IBKAKY 

NIVE->SITY  OF 

CALIfO.'.MlA 

\N  DiEGO 


THE  CONFESSIONS 

OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

DURING  GREAT   DAYS 

TRANSLATED   FROM  THE  RUSSIAN  OF 
LEONID  ANDRETEV 
liY  R.  S.  TOWNSEND 


ALFRED  A.  KNOPF 

NEW  YORK  MCMXVII 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 
by  Turnbull  &*  Sj>ears,  Edinburgh 


THE  CONFESSIONS 

OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

DURING   GREAT   DAYS 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE 
MAN  DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

PART  I 

St  Petersburgh, 
28^^  August  1914. 

To  speak  'wdth  a  clear  conscience  as  one 
does  at  confession,  even  now  I  can't  make 
out  why  I  was  in  such  a  panic  on  that  day. 
War  is  war,  we  all  know ;  no  one  greets 
its  coming  with  delight ;  still,  it  is  a  simple 
matter,  when  all  is  said  and  done  ;  we 
have  been  through  it  before.  The  Japanese 
War  is  still  fresh  in  car  memories.  At 
present,  for  example,  when  bloody  battles 
are  being  fought,  I  have  no  sense  of  fear, 
and  live  as  I  always  do.  I  go  about  my 
work,  see  my  friends,  indulge  in  a  theatre 
or  a  picture-show,  and  were  it  not  for  my 

A  1 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

wife's  brother,  Pavel,  being  at  the  war,  I 
could  almost  forget,  on  occasions,  the 
terrible  events  that  are  happening. 

Of  course,  I  don't  deny  that  there's  a 
restlessness  and  anxiety  at  bottom.  I 
can't  exactly  describe  the  sensation ;  it's 
a  kind  of  gnawing  despair  that  comes  over 
one  mostly  in  the  morning  at  breakfast. 
You  no  sooner  open  your  paper  (I  take 
in  two  besides  KopeiJca)  than  you  are 
brought  back  to  the  horrors  that  are 
happening  over  there  to  those  poor  Belgians, 
to  their  houses  and  children,  and  you  feel 
as  though  some  one  had  poured  cold  water 
over  you,  and  turned  you  out  naked  on  a 
frosty  winter's  day.  Still,  this  sensation 
has  no  relation  to  fear ;  it's  merely  a  feeling 
of  human  pity  for  those  in  distress. 

As  I  was  saying,  on  that  first  day  I 
was  ridiculously  frightened.  It  makes  me 
blush  to  think  of  it.  I  need  only  mention 
2 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

that  on  the  2nd  August  I  paid  no  less  than 
thirty  roubles  for  a  miserable  conveyance 
to  take  us  from  Shuvalov,  where  we  had 
been  staying,  back  to  town,  and  in  less 
than  five  days  I  was  taking  the  whole  of 
my  family  back  again  by  train,  and  that 
we  actually  remained  in  the  country  until 
the  25th  August  in  the  most  peaceful  manner 
possible.  What  a  state  we  were  in,  to  be 
sure  !  My  wife,  unkempt,  unwashed,  dazed 
and  distraught,  jolted  along  with  the 
children  in  the  cart,  while  I,  the  head  of 
the  family,  marched  in  the  road  by  their 
side,  feehng  as  though  doomsday  were 
behind  us  and  we  must  run,  run  without 
looking  back,  mthout  stopping  to  take 
breath,  not  merely  to  St  Petersburgh,  but 
to  the  very  ends  of  the  earth. 

All  the  shops  along  the  road  were  selling 
bread  in   abundance,    and   I   had   thrust 
some  stupid  crusts  into  my  pocket  in  case 
3 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

of  need.  Prudence  and  foresight — ^under 
any  circumstances  ! 

The  weather  was  glorious  at  the  time, 
but  we  had  no  faith  even  in  the  weather. 
It  seemed  to  us  that  it  was  bound  to 
pour  with  rain,  or  that  a  sudden  snow- 
storm would  descend  upon  us  although 
it  was  August,  and  we  should  perish 
on  the  way  !  How  horribly  we  worried 
our  driver  ! 

Another  disgraceful  circumstance  comes 
to  my  mind.  I  picked  some  blue  Uttle 
bell  flower  on  the  wayside  and  gave  it  to 
Lidotchka,  my  little  girl,  chaffing  her  a 
bit  as  I  did  so.  It  was  a  natural  act, 
being  fond  of  my  children  as  I  am,  especially 
of  Lidotchka,  but  it  pains  me  to  recall  the 
thought  that  occurred  to  me  at  the  time. 
I  congratulated  myself  on  not  having  lost 
my  head  like  other  people,  since  there  I 
was  picking  flowers,  joking  and  trying  to 
4 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

cheer   up   my   family.     An   extraordinary 
act  of  heroism  ! 

With  what  a  sense  of  rehef  did  we 
tumble  into  the  house  !  Beside  ourselves 
with  joy  as  we  lighted  the  candles  (the 
electric  light  was  disconnected  owing  to 
our  absence)  and  seated  ourselves  at  the 
table  round  the  samovar. 

The  most  astonishing  thing  is  that  I 
don't  know  exactly  when  the  absurd  panic 
left  me,  nor  how  it  happened  that  five 
days  later  we  were  going  calmly  back 
again  to  the  country,  not  the  least  bit 
ashamed.  However,  half  the  carriage  was 
full  of  heroes  like  ourselves.  I  wonder 
what  we  must  have  thought  of  each  other  ? 
I  don't  suppose  we  bothered,  though ;  we 
were  too  engrossed  in  our  journey,  telHng 
each  other  without  the  least  embarrassment 
what  we  had  been  foolish  enough  to  pay 
for  our  conveyances  ! 
5 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

To  do  myself  a  little  justice,  I  was 
largely  infected  by  my  wife's  mispeakable 
horror.  At  any  rate,  that  is  how  I  explain 
our  "  flight  from  Egypt  "  to  our  friends. 
The  explanation,  however,  does  not  fully 
satisfy  my  own  conscience.  Had  I  been  a 
coward,  or  what  might  be  called  an  effemin- 
ate person,  there  would  have  been  nothing 
more  to  say,  but,  far  from  being  a  coward, 
I  am  a  man  of  some  courage  ;  a  convulsion 
took  place  in  my  brain,  and  the  world  was 
turned  upside  dowii.  What  a  fool  I  must 
have  looked  as  I  strutted  along  beside  the 
cart,  picking  flowers  into  the  bargain ! 
And  what  a  smart  fellow  I  considered 
myself,  to  have  got  that  cart  to  save  my 
family  ! 

I  wonder  what  made  me  go  Hke  that  ? 

I  know  now,  to  be  sure.  The  vision  the 
war  must  have  presented  to  me  was  so 
appalling  and  strange  as  to  bear  no  resem- 
6 


i 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

blance  to  a  war  at  all.  I  can't  recall  that 
vision,  no  matter  how  hard  I  try.  It 
must  have  seemed  like  the  crack  of  doom, 
that  the  end  of  the  world  had  come  and 
the  destruction  of  all  Hving  things.  I 
must  have  heard  a  tremendous  crash  of 
thunder  that  cleft  the  earth  in  two,  and 
we  had  to  fly  for  our  very  lives. 

I  remember  one  thing,  however,  I  was 
not  in  the  least  afraid  of  the  Germans  or 
their  Kaiser.  I  never  thought  of  them 
at  all,  in  fact.  It  must  have  seemed  plain 
to  any  fool  that  they  couldn't  come  flying 
to  Shuvalov  in  a  day. 

And  why  should  I  have  been  afraid  of 
the  Germans,  anyway  ?  Weren't  they 
human  beings  like  ourselves,  as  much 
afraid  of  us  as  we  of  them  ? 

We  were  both  in  the  same  boat,  as  it 
were.  It  was  as  if  some  antediluvian 
animals  were  close  at  our  heels,  crushing 
7 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

the  earth  with  their  tremendous  paws. 
.  .  .  But,  no,  that  doesn't  describe  it. 
What  is  an  animal  ?  Who  is  afraid  of  an 
animal  nowadays  ?  It  was  something  quite 
different.  Some  convulsion  must  have 
taken  place  in  my  brain  as  to  make  the 
world  seem  upside  down — literally  upside 
down — so  that  I  seemed  to  be  walking  not 
on  my  feet,  but  on  hands  like  an  acrobat. 

I  remember,  too,  how  everything  aston- 
ished me  on  the  road  that  day ;  the  most 
ordinary  little  thing  with  no  claim  to  the 
remarkable  whatever.  For  instance,  a  man 
would  be  coming  down  the  road,  and  as 
I  watched  him  moving  his  legs,  I  thought, 
"  Fancy  that,  he's  walking  !  "  Or  a  hen 
would  run  out  of  some  yard,  or  a  little 
kitten  would  sit  on  a  patch  of  weeds,  and 
again  I  wonder,  "  A  kitten !  "  Or  a  "  Good 
morning  "  said  to  some  tradesman  would 
make  me  marvel  that  he  replied  "  Good 
8 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

morning,"  and  not  some  unintelligible  bla, 
hla  !  We  saw  the  streets  in  the  town — 
again  a  sm*prise.  And  the  policeman,  too, 
standing  at  the  corner,  and  one  we  knew 
into  the  bargain,  brought  fresh  exclama- 
tions of  surprise,  as  though  at  the  words 
from  Wilhelm  "  War  is  declared  "  kittens 
and  policemen  and  streets  should  have 
disappeared  into  the  infernal  regions,  and 
the  human  tongue  changed  to  the  unin- 
telHgible  roar  of  the  beasts.  What  wild 
ideas  a  panic  will  create,  to  be  sure  ! 

It  seems  ridiculous  to  me  now,  and  I'm 
ashamed  to  think  of  it.  Another  incident, 
besides  the  one  of  Lidotchka's  flower, 
bothers  my  conscience.  ^Vhether  I  am  a 
coward  or  not,  after  what  I  have  stated 
above,  is  open  to  conjecture,  but  of  my 
honesty  I  have  always  been  assured. 
Here  in  my  diary,  alone  with  God  and  my 
own  conscience,  I  may  even  say  more ; 
9 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

I  am  not  only  honest,  but  remarkably 
so,  and  am  naturally  proud  of  the  fact, 
but,  however,  people  know  what  I  am. 
And  still,  notwithstanding  my  honesty 
and  decency,  on  the  2nd  August,  accursed 
day,  I  left  our  cook,  Annisia,  behind  in 
Shuvalov,  though  she  shed  tears  and  en- 
treated me  to  take  her. 

Even  this  incident  produces  nothing  but 
a  smile  now.  What  could  have  happened 
to  the  silly  thing  there  ?  And  what  did 
happen,  in  point  of  fact  ?  She  appeared 
home  a  couple  of  days  later,  having 
managed  to  conceal  herself  on  a  train, 
bringing  back  a  jar  of  pickled  cucumbers. 
That  day,  of  course,  the  thing  had  an 
ugly  look  about  it.  There  was  I  running 
away  to  save  my  family  from  some  im- 
pending disaster,  and  leaving  the  poor 
girl  behind,  because  there  wasn't  room 
enough  for  her  in  the  cart,  or  because  I 
10 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

had  to  leave  some  one  behind  to  look  after 
my  property !  Under  no  circumstances  did 
I  forget  my  property  ! 

It  is  consoling  to  think  that,  though 
Annisia  cried  and  begged  to  be  taken,  she 
bore  us  no  grudge  for  having  left  her. 
Foolish  woman  ! 

29^/t  August. 

I  write  this  diary  in  the  evenings  on 
the  pretext  of  working  on  some  papers  I 
sometimes  bring  home  from  the  office. 
My  wife  is  a  wonderful  creature  in  every 
respect ;  she  is  a  woman  in  a  thousand, 
good-natured,  intelligent  and  responsive, 
still,  even  a  man's  nearest  and  dearest 
hinder  him  from  expressing  his  thoughts 
as  he  would  like.  To  secure  freedom  of 
thought  and  expression,  I  must  be  per- 
fectly sure  that  no  one  will  read  what  I 
write.  Apart  from  the  fact  that  one 
11 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

doesn't  like  to  disclose  certain  things  even 
to  those  one  loves,  there  are  dangers  and 
pitfalls  to  be  avoided  that  a  man  less  wary 
than  I  might  fall  into.  I  don't  interfere 
with  other  people's  thoughts,  and  I  don't 
Avant  anyone  to  interfere  with  me. 

I  am  going  to  make  a  great  confession. 
Notwithstanding  the  general  misery  I  am 
a  shamelessly  happy  man  !  Over  there  a 
bloody  war  is  raging,  full  of  horrors,  while 
here,  Sashenka,  my  wife,  is  bathing  the 
children.  She  has  finished  darling  little 
Lidotchka  and  that  rascal  Peter,  and  is 
doing  Jena.  How  sweetly  she  is  smiling  to 
herself  !  When  she  has  put  the  children 
to  bed  she  will  go  about  her  own  affairs, 
such  as  getting  things  ready  for  to-morrow, 
which  will  be  Sunday,  or  she  will  play 
something  on  the  piano,  perhaps. 

Yesterday  we  had  a  postcard  from  her 
brother  Pavel,  so  Sashenka  will  be  happy 
12 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

and  contented  for  a  week.  Of  course,  we 
can't  tell  what  may  happen,  but  if  we 
don't  look  too  far  ahead,  our  life  may  be 
said  to  be  a  truly  happy  one.  Sashenka's 
piano  is  a  hired  one ;  Sashenka  is  very 
fond  of  music,  and  was  to  have  entered 
the  conservatoire.  To  economise  in  war- 
time she  offered  to  give  up  the  piano, 
but  I  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  Five  roubles  a 
month  is  a  paltry  sum  for  which  to  deprive 
the  household  of  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
her  play.  And  Lidotchka,  too,  is  beginning 
to  learn.  She  shows  remarkable  talent  for 
a  child  of  six  and  a  half. 

Yes,  I  am  truly  a  happy  man.  I  will 
mention  some  of  the  reasons  of  my  happi- 
ness here,  though  I  would  not  talk  of  them 
to  a  living  soul.  For  one  thing,  I  am 
forty-five  years  old,  and  no  matter  what 
happeiis  I  will  never  under  any  circum- 
stances be  called  to  the  colours.  This  is 
IS 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

a  thing  it  would  hardly  be  safe  to  say  to 
others ;  it  might  lead  to  so  much  mis- 
understanding, I  have  to  be  somewhat  of 
a  humbug  at  times  and  pretend,  as  all 
the  rest  do,  that  if  I  were  younger  and 
stronger  and  so  on,  I  should  most  certainly 
join  as  a  volunteer,  but  at  bottom  I  can't 
help  rejoicing,  that  without  in  any  way 
breaking  the  law,  I  can  stop  at  home 
and  not  have  to  expose  myself  to  some 
silly  bullet. 

I  confess,  too,  that  when  the  men  in  our 
office  stand  round  the  map  loudly  main- 
taining that  this  is  a  great  war,  essential 
to  some  great  purpose,  I  make  no  attempt 
to  argue  with  them.  What  would  be  the 
use  of  any  little  objection  I  might  make  ? 
They  would  only  laugh  at  or  make  sport 
of  me,  as  they  did  of  Vasia,  the  book- 
keeper, a  day  or  two  ago,  almost  reducing 
the  poor  man  to  tears.  Besides,  a  few 
14 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

indiscreet  words  in  the  mood  people  are 
in  now  might  be  harmful.  No  one  knows 
how  they  might  be  interpreted. 

Still,  in  spite  of  what  the  men  in  our 
office  say,  and  the  newspapers  too,  I  am 
firmly  convinced  that  I  do  not  like  this 
war  at  all.  Greater  minds  than  mine, 
such  as  those  of  scholars,  politicians,  or 
writers,  may  see  some  sense  in  this  ugly 
brawl,  but  my  small  mind  fails  to  see 
any  good  in  it  whatever.  When  I  imagine 
myself  standing  in  some  clear  field  at  the 
front,  men  aiming  at  me  with  rifle  and 
gun  with  intent  to  kill — aiming,  straining, 
bursting  to  hit  me — I  find  it  ridiculous  ; 
it  seems  like  some  silly  practical  joke. 
Where  is  the  particular  spot  they  would 
find  so  tempting  to  fire  at  ?  Is  it  my 
forehead,  my  chest,  or  my  stomach  ? 
But  no  matter  how  much  I  touch  myself, 
nor  look  myself  up  and  down,  I  can  discover 
15 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

nothing  remarkable  about  me.  I  am  a 
man,  just  an  ordinary  man,  and  no  one 
but  a  fool  would  want  to  fire  at  me.  I 
had  some  excuse  to  talk  of  silly  bullets  ! 
And  when  my  imagination  carries  me  a 
little  further,  and  I  see  a  German  on  the 
other  side  of  the  field  feeling  his  stomach 
and  thinking  what  a  fool  I  am,  it  is  more 
than  absurd,  it  becomes  disgusting. 

Let  us  suppose  even  that  the  German 
was  not  feeling  his  stomach,  but  aiming 
with  every  intent  to  kill  me,  does  he 
know  why  he  wants  to  do  it  ?  It's  quite 
possible  that  I'm  a  fool  and  a  coward ; 
we  won't  argue  about  that,  but  supposing 
I'm  not  the  only  one  ?  Supposing  there 
are  thousands,  a  hundred  thousand  men  in 
St  Petersburgh  like  me,  who  keep  diaries 
and  rejoice  that  they  will  never  be  called 
up  nor  be  killed,  and  who  argue  in  exactly 
the  same  way  as  I  do  ? 
16 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

I  admit  there  is  nothing  to  be  proud  of 
in  the  fact  of  being  afraid  of  one's  skin ; 
I  hardly  expect  to  receive  the  St  George 
Cross  for  it ;  I  wasn't  made  for  the  St  George 
Cross,  and  I  never  set  up  to  be  a  hero  of 
the  Malakhov  Hill.  I  have  never  harmed 
anyone  in  my  life,  and  I  have  a  perfect 
right  to  demand  that  no  one  shall  harm 
me  by  shooting  me  down  like  a  sparrow. 
I  didn't  want  the  war.  Wilhelm  did  not 
send  his  ambassadors  to  me  to  find  out 
if  I  wanted  to  fight ;  he  just  said  "  fight," 
and  that's  all.  Needless  to  say,  I  love  my 
country,  Russia,  and  should  any  fool  or 
madman  come  to  attack  it,  I  should  be 
bound  to  defend  it,  regardless  of  my  skin. 
Were  I  of  mihtary  age  (and  this  in  all 
honesty)  I  should  not  evade  my  duties 
under  pretext  of  medical  unfitness,  or  take 
advantage  of  influence  and  hide  behind 
Auntie's  skirts  in  the  rear.  I  should  be 
B  17 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

in  my  place  at  the  front  with  the  others, 
ready  to  kill  or  be  killed. 

This  is  as  plain  as  broad  daylight ;  but 
it  so  happens  that  I  am  forty-five  and 
have  a  perfect  right  to  stay  where  I  am, 
to  think  as  I  choose,  to  be  a  coward  or  a 
fool,  if  I  like.  It  is  the  hand  of  fate  ! 
Instead  of  being  Ilya  Petrovitch  Dementev, 
living  in  Post  Office  Street  in  St  Peters - 
burgh,  I  might  have  been  a  Belgian,  a 
Maeterlinck ;  I  might  have  perished  beneath 
a  German  shell,  but  I  am  Ilya  Petrovitch, 
forty-five  years  old,  and  do  live  in  Post 
Office  Street  in  St  Petersburgh,  where  no 
German  shell  can  reach  me,  and  I  am  happy 
in  the  consciousness  thereof. 

All  sorts  of  things  might  have  been. 
Instead  of  working  in  om*  particular  bank, 
which  is  as  sound  as  any  banking  house 
can  well  be,  and  likely  to  withstand  any 
war,  I  might  have  been  working  in  some 
18 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

wretched  little  business  that  would  have 
collapsed  with  the  first  breath  of  war,  as 
so  many  of  them  have  done,  and  I  might 
have  been  left  homeless  with  my  Lidotchka, 
nothing  but  a  lottery  ticket  in  my  pocket 
and  five  hundred  roubles  in  the  savings 
bank — a  pleasant  prospect  indeed  !  Or  I 
might  have  been  a  Pole  or  a  Jew  in  Galicia 
and  lain  as  carrion  in  the  dust,  or  dangling 
from  a  tree.     No  man  escapes  his  fate  ! 

It  is  useless,  however,  to  speculate  on 
things  that  are  not,  and  no  matter  how 
sorry  I  might  feel  for  the  Belgians  or  for 
our  own  soldiers  in  the  trenches,  I  can't 
help  rejoicing  that  I  am  what  I  am.  God  ! 
to  think  that  instead  of  my  dear  Sashenka 
I  might  have  had  some  wTetched  woman 
for  a  wife,  of  whom  there  are  so  many  in 
the  world !  That,  too,  would  have  been 
fate ;  as  it  is,  I  can't  help  gloating  over 
the  happiness  that  is  mine. 
19 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Sashenka  has  just  been  playing  the 
Belgian  National  Anthem.  What  beautiful 
music  it  is !  How  exhilarating,  and  what 
love  of  freedom  and  country  it  expresses  ! 
The  tears  came  into  my  eyes  as  I  listened. 
A  feeling  of  pity  for  the  poor  Belgians  came 
over  me.  Tlieir  beautiful  anthem  and 
their  love  of  their  native  land  availed 
them  nothing ;  they  are  being  crushed  by 
the  confomaded  Germans. 

Yes,  no  matter  what  the  politicians  in 
our  office  may  say,  I  can  never  agi'ee  that 
this  war  is  a  good  war.  How  absurd  to 
think  of  it !  People  are  being  crushed  and 
butchered,  yet  they  maintain  that  there 
is  no  harm  in  it,  for  when  we  take  BerHn, 
they  argue,  justice  will  be  done.  What 
kind  of  justice,  and  for  whom?  \^^lat 
use  would  justice  be  to  an  unfortunate 
Belgian — a  man  of  my  age,  let  us  say  ? 
And  there  must  be  many  men  like  me. 
20 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Sashenka  says  it's  late  and  time  for  bed. 
It's  not  my  fault  that  after  a  hard,  honest 
day's  work  I  am  well  pleased  at  the  prospect 
of  a  peaceful  night's  rest ! 

Petrograd, 
Tuesday,  1st  September. 

This  is  a  great,  historic  day.  The  name 
of  St  Petersburgh  has  been  changed  to 
Petrograd.  Henceforth  I  shall  be  a  citizen 
of  Petrograd.  It  will  be  difficult  to  get 
used  to  the  change,  though  it  sounds  so 
well.  The  men  in  our  office  are  delighted, 
but  I  am  sorry  to  lose  familiar  old  Peters - 
biu-gh,  St  Petersburgh,  into  the  bargain. 
Petrograd  makes  you  feel  as  though  you 
had  been  stuck  in  your  chief's  waiting-room 
for  a  whole  day  in  a  new  coat.  The  coat 
was  a  good  one,  no  doubt,  but  you 
couldn't  help  regretting  the  cast-off  jacket, 
21 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

every  stain  of  which  reminded  you  of  its 
lost  comfort. 

We  continue  to  be  victorious.  Prussia 
has  been  occupied  by  our  troops,  and 
there  is  a  rumour  that  to-day  or  to- 
morrow, we  shall  take  Konigsberg.  This 
is  becoming  serious,  indeed !  To-day's  staff 
communique  says  that  Lvov  and  Halitch 
have  fallen,  and  that  the  Austrians  are 
completely  routed. 

I  need  not  conceal  what  I  am  going  to 
say.  For  all  that  I  am  a  peace-loving  man 
I  can't  help  feeling  the  glory  of  it.  If 
there  must  be  a  war,  of  com'se  it  is  better 
to  beat  than  be  beaten. 

How  quickly  the  war  has  spread  !  How 
swift  are  its  fiery  footsteps  !  I  am  re- 
minded of  a  fire  I  once  saw  in  the  country 
when  a  boy.  One  house  caught  fire  at 
first,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  ever)- 
thatched  roof  in  the  village  was  ablaze, 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

and  there  seemed  no  end  to  the  sea  of 
flame. 

It  would  be  an  interesting  study  for  a 
morahst  to  discover  what  there  was  in 
the  human  soul  that  found  satisfaction 
in  watching  a  fire.  What  is  it  that  pro- 
duces the  festive  sensation  it  gives  ?  Is 
it  the  alarm  bell,  the  firemen's  helmets, 
or  the  bustling  crowd  ?  I  went  to  a  school 
in  a  provincial  town  when  I  was  a  boy, 
and  I  well  remember  how  we  used  to  run 
to  watch  a  fire,  no  matter  how  far  away 
it  was.  Workmen  would  throw  down  their 
tools  and  run,  paying  no  heed  to  dusty 
clothes  and  grimy  faces.  At  the  cry  of 
'■  Fire,"  men  and  boys  scrambled  to  the 
roofs,  the  iron  sheets  clanking  as  they 
went,  and  there  they  stood,  arms  out- 
stretched, fingers  pointing  in  the  direction 
of  the  fire,  in  the  attitudes  of  marshals 
on  monuments.  Even  at  school  we  did 
23 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

not  fail  to  rush  to  the  windows  at  sound 
of  the  fire  brigade,  and  the  masters,  too, 
were  not  above  looking  out  themselves. 
And  no  one  thought  at  all  of  the  poor 
people  whose  house  was  burning. 

I  confess  to  a  certain  feeling  of  excite- 
ment and  curiosity  at  the  European  con- 
flagration, and  wonder  how  it  will  change 
from  day  to  day.  I  should  have  preferred 
peace,  of  course,  and  have  no  sympathy 
with  the  continual  assertion  of  the  men  in 
our  office  that  we  should  be  proud  to  be 
living  at  a  time  like  the  present  and  going 
through  this  war;  nevertheless,  I  cannot 
help  being  interested  in  the  war. 

Pavel  is  the  only  load  at  my  heart.  He 
is  treading  as  a  conqueror  on  Prussian  soil 
so  far,  but  who  knows  what  may  happen 
to-morrow  ?  ^Vhere  would  I  have  been 
had  I  been,  say,  twenty  or  thirty,  not 
forty-five  ?  The  thought  damps  your 
24 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

ardour  somewhat.  It  would  be  as  weU 
to  remember  it  when  your  enthusiasm 
gets  the  better  of  you. 

Sunday,  20^^  September. 

It  is  over  a  fortnight  since  we  have 
heard  any  news  of  Pavel.  From  his  last 
letter  or  two  we  gathered  that  he  was 
somewhere  in  Prussia  where  the  Samsonov 
Corps  was  so  completely  smashed  up. 
Sashenka  is  horribly  uneasy,  and  added 
to  that,  her  mother  comes  to  us  almost 
every  day,  and  the  sight  of  the  poor  old 
lady's  grief  upsets  the  whole  household. 
She  is  here  now,  having  come  straight 
from  Mass.  Sashenka  is  giving  her  coffee 
in  the  dining-room  as  I  write  here.  Besides 
Pavel,  Sashenka's  mother  has  another  son, 
Nikolai,  who  is  married  and  has  a  family. 
The  old  lady  lives  with  them,  having  no 
means    of    her    own,    but    either    because 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Nikolai  is  unsympathetic,  or  by  the  very 
nature  of  things,  she  is  drawn  more  towards 
her  daughter,  and  gives  us  the  benefit  of 
every  Httle  trouble  and  worry  she  has. 
I  am  not  complaining  of  the  harmless  old 
lady,  but  I  must  confess  I  do  find  her 
Adsits  rather  trying  at  times.  One  day  it's 
tears  and  complaints  about  Nikolai,  who 
doesn't  get  on  very  well  with  his  wife, 
another  it's  Pavel.  There  is  always  some- 
thing to  upset  Sashenka  and  bring  discord 
into  our  otherwise  happy  family. 

I  am  very  fond  of  Pavel  myself,  and 
can't  think  without  a  shudder  that  at  this 
moment,  as  I  write  his  name,  he  may  be 
wounded  or  even  killed.  I  awoke  in  the 
middle  of  last  night  and  could  not  go  to 
sleep  again  for  two  absurd,  conflicting 
sensations  that  tormented  me.  I  couldn't 
think  of  Pavel  as  living,  yet  I  had  no  ground 
for  thinking  him  dead.  I  didn't  know 
26 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

whether  to  pity  him  exposed  to  danger  in 
the  trenches,  or  to  mourn  for  him  dead. 

At  the  present  moment  it  seems  to  me 
that  he  is  aHve,  but  sooner  or  later  he  is 
bound  to  be  killed  in  this  horrible  war 
that  is  more  like  some  wholesale  butchery 
than  the  triumph  of  justice.  I  never  argue 
with  the  men  in  our  office  when  they 
declare  that  the  war  will  be  over  in 
November.  Their  view  seems  to  me  too 
optimistic  ;  we  can  hardly  expect  peace 
before  Christmas  at  least.  Another  four 
months  are  before  us,  and  with  two  hundred 
thousand  killed  every  month,  what  earthly 
chance  can  Pavel  have  ? 

Being  a  man  I  can  look  the  inevitable 
in  the  face  with  fortitude,  and  will  bear 
the  blow  with  dignity  should  it  befall  us, 
but  how  about  mother  and  Sashenka  ? 
The  poor  old  lady  is  ready  to  die  at  the 
merest  breath  of  misfortune. 
27 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

When  I  lay  awake  last  night  I  wondered 
how  I  would  break  the  news  to  mother 
in  the  event  of  the  calamity  happening. 
What  could  I  say  to  her  ?  My  heart 
began  to  beat  violently  at  the  very  thought. 
To  pronounce  the  word  that  is  to  change 
completely  the  aspect  of  the  world  for 
another,  to  make  it  something  different 
to  what  it  was  a  moment  ago,  is  not  a 
pleasant  task .  To  be  responsible  for  the  first 
burst  of  grief  was  truly  terrifying,  particu- 
larly as  I  did  not  know  what  form  it  would 
take.  Would  it  produce  a  flood  of  tears, 
one  heart-rending  cry,  or  sudden  death  ? 

I  watched  mother  in  the  dining-room 
before  I  came  away,  as  she  raised  a  rusk 
to  her  mouth.  "  I  wonder  what  would 
happen  to  that  rusk  if  I  were  to  say  that 
Pavel  was  killed  ?  "  I  thought.  And  a 
vivid  picture  rose  up  in  ray  mind  of  how 
that  unfortunate  rusk  would  roll  to  the 
28 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

floor ;  I  even  saw  the  very  spot  where  it 
would  lie,  and  how  Annisia  would  pick 
it  up  when  she  swept  the  room,  and  eat 
it,  little  witting  how  it  came  there. 

The  autumn  climate  of  Petrograd  is 
evidently  having  a  bad  effect  on  us  all. 
The  children  are  very  fractious.  Even  my 
darling  Lidotchka  so  far  forgot  her  usually 
angelic  ways  and  had  a  fight  with  Peter. 

The  same  Evening. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  three  hours' 
walk  along  the  river  and  the  Nevsky. 
Our  northern  capital  is  indeed  a  beautiful 
city,  so  grand  and  magnificent !  There 
are  many  people  who  compare  it  unfavour- 
ably mth  Moscow.  Even  the  men  in  our 
ofl&ce  are  often  to  be  heard  in  this  time- 
worn  dispute,  but  I  hold  my  tongue 
according  to  my  usual  habit.  What  is  the 
use  of  attempting  to  convince  the  bHnd, 
29 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

or  men  who  refuse  to  see  ?  The  man 
who  irritates  me  most  of  all  in  this  respect 
is  Zvoliansky,  a  Pole,  who  thinks  himself 
competent  to  judge  because  he  happened 
to  have  spent  six  months  studying  in  Paris. 
To  see  the  way  he  turns  up  his  nose  !  I 
should  like  to  set  the  fool  to  build  a  citj^ 
like  ours  ! 

I  happened  to  reach  the  Nevsky  at  the 
moment  when  the  lights  went  up  as  by 
magic,  and  turned  the  grey  twilight  into 
deep  blue.  It  is  really  wonderful  that  no 
matter  what  the  weather,  be  it  raining  or 
snowing,  it  seems  to  change  with  the  hght- 
ing  of  the  lamps,  to  some  enchanted 
weather  of  its  own.  I  mixed  with  the 
crowd  with  a  sense  of  pleasure ;  it  was 
denser  and  more  animated  than  usual ; 
I  moved  along  with  it  and  soon  found 
myself  at  the  Admiralty  without  having 
noticed  the  way  I  had  come.  We  seemed 
SO 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

to  be  treading  on  air.  I  admired,  as  I 
walked,  the  numberless  lights  of  green, 
white  and  mauve.  Tramcars  streamed 
past,  so  many  that  one  lost  count  of  their 
green  and  red  lamps.  Motors  swept  over 
the  smooth  bridge,  their  electric  lamps 
looking  like  enormous  shining  eyes  ;  electric 
advertisements  flashed  in  the  sky ;  and  the 
crowd  moved  along  noisily,  onward,  ever 
onward ;  cabs  darted  in  and  out  among 
the  traffic  ;  a  carriage  with  spirited  horses 
flew  past,  taking  some  one  to  an  evening 
party,  no  doubt.  ...  It  is  not  for  me 
to  describe  the  glories  of  this  scene  ! 

On  the  embankment  huge  sombre  palaces 
rose  liigh ;  the  light  of  a  passing  steamer 
twinkled  here  and  there  on  the  dark 
surface  of  the  water ;  the  Peter-Paul 
Fortress  could  just  be  discernible  with  its 
memorials  of  our  Tsars.  Its  doleful  bell 
sounded  like  the  voice  of  time.  .  .  .  Silent 
31 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

couples  sat  on  the  round  stone  seats  as 
Sashenka  and  I  used  to  sit  together  before 
we  were  married,  when  I  would  put  my 
hand  into  her  warm  little  muff  on  pretext 
of  feeling  cold.  For  some  time  I  stood 
watching  the  new  Palace  bridge  in  course 
of  construction,  thinking  how  that  would 
add  to  the  beauty  of  our  wonderful  city. 

Wending  my  way  home  through  the 
crowd  I  thought  of  how  remote  the  horrible 
war  was  from  us,  and  how,  in  spite  of  its 
fury,  it  was  powerless  to  effect  human  life 
and  all  the  creations  of  man.  How  firm 
and  solid  everything  seemed !  Trams, 
cabs,  even  the  couples  on  the  seats,  and 
everything  connected  with  our  daily  life, 
seemed  to  be  cast  in  steel.  I  was  more 
than  ever  ashamed  of  my  early  panic. 
What  had  we  to  fear,  indeed  ! 

There  are  rumours  that  Berlin  is  prac- 
tically in  darkness,  and  that  the  Germans 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

are  starving.  As  a  Russian,  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  rejoice  in  their  misfor- 
tunes, since  they  are  to  blame  for  this 
savage  war,  but  .  .  .  again  I  am  going 
to  say  something  I  wouldn't  breathe  in 
our  office.  I  am  sorry  for  the  Germans, 
if  Berlin  is  even  a  little  bit  like  our 
Petrograd.  How  awfully  cold  those  poor, 
adventurous  Teutons  must  be  now,  and 
how  they  must  curse  the  day  that  they 
embarked  upon  this  confounded  war. 
"  What  is  the  good  of  it,"  they  must 
think,  "  if  for  all  our  crime  and  slaughter, 
we  have  nothing  but  darkness  and  cold  ?  " 
I  can't  understand  the  sense  of  people 
killing  each  other ! 

I  must  go  to  bed.  By  the  way,  I  had 
nearly  forgotten — I  suppose  it's  because 
I'm  not  used  to  keeping  a  diary  that  I 
forget  the  most  essential  things — we  had 
a  post-card  from  Pavel.    He  is  alive  and 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

well.  It  came  at  the  moment  when  mother 
was  wrapping  herself  up  in  her  shawls  in 
the  hall  to  go  home.  Both  she  and 
Sashenka  were  very  much  cheered.  I 
couldn't  help  sharing  in  their  happiness. 
But  how  frail  human  happiness  is  ! 

25th  September. 

There  is  something  very  low  about  a 
crowd,  it  seems  to  me.  One  moment  it 
is  ready  to  curse  the  war  and  its  cruelties, 
the  next  to  gloat  over  it  with  a  morbid 
pleasure.  It  may  be  due  to  our  successes 
in  Galicia,  or  perhaps  to  the  general  excite- 
ment over  military  engagements,  but  to 
my  mind  there  is  too  much  noise  and 
rejoicing,  both  in  the  papers  as  well  as  in 
our  office.  No  one  denies  that  the  Belgians 
are  heroes  and  that  King  Albert  is  an 
exalted  personality,  worthy  of  his  crown, 
but  since  the  throats  of  these  heroes  are 
U 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

being  cut  wholesale,  what  is  there  to  rejoice 
about  ?  I  hold  my  tongue  in  my  usual 
manner,  of  course,  but  their  attitude  is 
amazing.  However,  I  couldn't  resist  the 
popular  enthusiasm,  and  paid  my  tribute 
to  it  by  buying  a  portrait  of  King  Albert. 
It  doesn't  mean,  though,  that  I  am  carried 
away  by  the  war.  The  sight  of  staring 
head-lines  such  as  "  Yaraslav  Ablaze," 
"  Sandomir  in  Flames,"  sends  a  sharp  pain 
through  my  brain  as  if  some  foreign  matter 
had  got  into  it.  What  an  imagination  a 
man  must  have  to  visualise  the  picture 
of  "  Yaraslav  Ablaze,"  or  "  Sandomir  in 
Flames  "  !  Unconsciously  you  find  your- 
self thanking  your  stars  that  Petrograd  is 
so  far  removed  from  those  horrors. 

^Ith  September. 

After  great  deliberation  I  have  decided 
to  let  Andrei  Vasilevitch  read  this  diary, 
35 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

if  he  is  fortunate  enough  to  return  from 
the  war,  that  is.  He  was  never  a  man  to 
agree  with  my  views ;  let  him  judge  in 
this  case  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong. 
I  found  it  distinctly  disagreeable  to  read 
my  remarks  about  my  age  and  personal 
happiness.  It  seems  mean  to  write  about 
these  things  frankly  merely  for  one's  own 
benefit,  as  though  one  had  something  to 
conceal.  I  am  not  mean  and  have  nothing 
to  conceal.  I  merely  did  not  wish  to 
thrust  my  opinions  on  other  people.  I 
have  nothing  to  hide ;  my  life  is  open  to 
any  man. 

Peter  got  an  attack  of  quinsy  and  we 
had  great  difficulty  in  getting  a  doctor. 
Our  own  doctor  is  at  the  war ;  those  who 
have  not  gone  away  are  so  busy  at  the 
military  hospitals  that  it  is  next  to  im- 
possible to  get  hold  of  them.  I  ought  to 
rejoice,  according  to  some  people,  that 
36 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

my  sick  child  is  deprived  of  medical  aid, 
and  to  find  some  lofty  purpose  in  the  fact, 
but  I  can't.  I  shall  always  have  my  own 
views  on  the  subject. 

SOth  Seftemher. 

In  horror  and  trepidation  have  I  been 
following  the  German  siege  of  Antwerp. 
Thousands  of  heavy  guns  are  shelling  the 
town  ;  the  ruins  are  in  flames ;  the  people 
have  fled ;  only  detachments  of  soldiers 
are  to  be  seen  in  the  deserted  streets. 
"  The  sky  over  Antwerp  is  ablaze,"  my 
paper  says,  and  I  try  to  imagine  the 
significance  of  the  phrase.  Zeppehns  fly 
in  this  flaming  sky  and  drop  bombs. 
What  fiends  in  men's  shapes  must  they  be 
to  fly  over  this  hell,  over  the  fires,  explosions, 
and  roofs,  and  rain  down  more  destruction 
on  this  blazing  mass  of  ruins  ? 

Worked  on  by  the  horrors  I  read  in  the 
37 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

newspapers  I  flew  over  blazing  Antwerp 
in  the  night,  and  despite  my  unbounded 
terror,  I  could  not  help  being  envious  of 
those  dauntless,  fearless  men.  Did  they 
belong  to  a  different  species  that  they  were 
not  afraid  and  had  no  pity  ?  Why  did 
their  hands  not  tremble  and  their  hearts 
not  stop  still  ?  What  kind  of  eyes  must 
they  have  to  peer  over  the  sides  of  their 
Zeppelins  (or  whatever  it  is  that  they  do) 
at  the  burning,  flaming  town  beneath,  and 
calculate  and  take  aim  ? 

The  whole  thing  seems  so  much  like  a 
fairy  tale  that  I  can  hardly  believe  it  is 
true.  If  it  is  true,  what  use  am  I  in  the 
world — a  sheep  lagging  behind  the  species  ? 
It  is  only  in  my  sleep  that  I  can  fly ;  in 
my  waking  moments  I  look  about  for  a 
spot  where  I  can  hide  my  head.  A  long 
time  before  the  war,  one  of  our  dirigibles 
flew  over  the  Nevsky,  and  we  all  rushed 
38 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

out  of  the  office  to  admire  it.  How 
brilliant  it  looked  beneath  the  rays  of  the 
sun  as  it  soared  away  in  the  dizzy  heights  ! 
The  people  in  the  streets,  too,  craned  their 
necks  to  have  a  sight  of  it,  a  tipsy  civil 
servant  among  them,  a  regulation  cap  on 
his  head,  and  the  neck  of  a  bottle  peeping 
out  of  his  pocket.  He  half  closed  his 
eyes  as  he  looked,  seeming  to  measure  the 
distance,  and  said  aloud,  "  It  needs  a  sober 
man  for  that  job  !  "  He  ran  away,  and 
the  rest  of  us  laughed,  but  his  words 
come  back  to  me  now,  when  I  try  to  picture 
the  blazing  sky  over  Antwerp.  Is  a  sober 
or  a  drunken  man  needed  for  that  job  ? 
I  refuse  to  accept  the  new  type  that  flies 
through  the  clouds  dropping  inflammable 
bombs  !  He  is  the  new  despot  who  despises 
and  oppresses  all  men  alike.  We  have 
had  enough  of  his  kind — ruthless,  merciless 
men  who  would  as  soon  crack  a  man's 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

head  as  an  egg.  I  would  sooner  be  as  I 
am,  a  lagging  sheep,  than  like  one  of  them. 
Let  them  butcher  away  if  they  will,  I 
offer  my  own  throat,  if  it  pleases  them ! 

My  thoughts  keep  on  reverting  to 
Antwerp.  It  must  be  like  our  Petro- 
grad,  spacious  and  beautiful ;  its  numerous 
waters  reflect  the  flames  now,  and  blood 
flows  in  the  darkness  of  the  night.  And 
the  sky  is  ablaze  !  God  !  what  appalhng 
things  are  going  on  in  tliis  world ! 

11^^  October. 
Antwerp  has  fallen. 

15^^  October. 

1  don't  know  whether  it  is  due  to  the 
bad  weather  and  the  darkness,  and  all 
this  muddle,  but  of  late  I  have  been  very 
depressed.  I  take  no  pleasure  in  anything 
and  have  a  constant  feeling  of  nausea  in 
the  pit  of  the  stomach.  You  start  the  day 
40 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

each  morning  with  a  horrible  scramble  for 
a  tramcar — there  seem  more  people  than 
ever,  in  spite  of  the  war,  or  fewer  cars, 
perhaps — and  you  come  out  of  the  crush 
bruised  and  shaken  as  though  you'd  been 
through  some  drunken  brawl.  The  per- 
sistent collectors,  men  and  women  alike, 
with  their  flags  and  flowers,  do  not  increase 
the  general  pleasantness.  Particularly  in- 
solent in  this  respect  are  the  boys  and 
girls  whose  parents  would  do  much  better 
to  keep  them  at  home,  than  let  them  drag 
themselves  about  the  streets. 

I  am  as  prepared  as  any  man  to  take  my 
share  of  the  burden ;  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
me,  in  so  far  as  my  limited  means  will 
allow,  and  I  object  to  this  distrust  of  my 
feelings  of  duty  and  compassion,  and  the 
indecency  with  which  these  people  search 
your  eyes  to  demand  your  purse.  People 
seem  afraid  to  look  each  other  square  in 
41 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

the  face  as  they  walk  along  the  streets, 
but  in  reality  every  one  takes  a  stealthy 
glance  to  see  if  his  neighbour  has  the  symbol 
of  the  day.  Even  I  can't  resist  doing  so. 
It  is  more  than  the  scrutiny  of  my  purse 
that  I  mind,  it  is  the  scrutiny  of  my  soul 
that  I  object  to.  My  soul  is  my  own ; 
I  am  its  master.  The  State  can  dispose  of 
my  body,  if  it  wills,  in  so  far  as  the  law 
permits,  but  no  one,  not  Peter  the  Great 
himself,  has  the  right  of  probing  into  my 
soul  and  introducing  his  laws  there,  no 
matter  how  excellent  they  may  be.  People 
have  tampered  with  my  soul  too  much 
of  late,  using  it  as  freely  as  a  public  road. 
To-day,  for  instance,  I  had  a  wild  argu- 
ment with  Sasha.  I  have  always  con- 
sidered myself  a  Liberal,  and  was  rather 
proud  of  the  fact.  Every  intelhgent  man 
ought  to  be  a  Liberal.  Nations  are  all 
alike  to  me.  I  make  no  difference  between 
42 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

a  German,  a  Frenchman,  or  even  a  Jew. 
For  the  past  two  months,  however,  the 
papers,  the  fellows  in  the  office,  and  every 
one,  has  been  trjnng  to  impress  upon  me 
that  I  ought  to  hate  the  Germans.  Sasha 
even  said  to  me  to-day  in  the  most  brutal 
manner,  "  You  must  be  mean  if  you  can 
love  the  Germans  now  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  love  them  ?  "  I 
demanded.  "  With  my  principles  I  can't 
hate  anyone,  no  matter  who  it  is." 

She  laughed. 

"  Principles,  indeed  !  We  should  hear  a 
different  tale  if  Pavel  had  been  your  brother 
and  not  mine  !  I  wonder  mother  can  bear 
to  come  here,  seeing  how  much  you  love 
her  son  ?  " 

Then  with  a  brutality  of  which  I  should 

not  have  thought  her  capable,  she  called  me 

a  coward  and  a  traitor,  and  declared  that 

I  was  glad  that  my  age  prevented  me  from 

43 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

going  to  the  war.  And  this,  after  all  the 
talks  we  had  had  when  she  had  seemed  to 
agree  with  me,  and  after  the  way  she  had 
been  concerned  about  my  digestion  but 
a  day  or  two  ago  !  A  fine  soldier  I  should 
make  with  my  poor  digestion  and  my 
palpitations. 

I  didn't  say  a  word  the  whole  evening 
to  show  my  resentment,  and  won't  speak 
for  a  day  or  two  to  come ;  but  I  fear  it 
will  have  but  little  effect. 

The  war  is  beginning  to  get  on  one's 
nerves  ;  one  can't  escape  it  for  a  day.  I 
left  off  reading  the  papers,  but  that  proved 
too  much  for  me ;  I  couldn't  keep  it  up 
for  long.  The  papers  are  full  of  sensations, 
and  the  men  in  our  office  are  for  ever 
disputing  and  arguing  round  the  maps. 
Horrible !  I  would  go  right  away  if  I 
could  afford  it.  There  must  be  some  spot 
in  the  world  where  one  would  be  free  from 
U 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

the  war.  Living  as  one  is  amidst  the 
general  folly,  it  is  practically  impossible 
to  preserve  one's  own  individuality,  and 
save  one's  soul  from  corruption.  I  didn't 
want  the  war,  as  I  said  before  !  I  loathe 
it  for  all  its  "  significance."  Why  should 
I  be  compelled  to  think  and  read  about  its 
horrors  every  day  of  my  life  ? 

I  am  not  a  heartless  blackguard.  I 
have  my  sympathies  and  sense  of  decency 
— I  say  this  in  all  modesty — and  I  suffer 
agonies  at  these  unbearable  horrors.  The 
killing  of  thousands,  nay,  hundreds  of 
thousands,  is  bad  enough,  but  the  fiendish 
way  in  which  it  is  done,  the  deafening  noise 
and  the  fire,  surpasses  all  understanding. 
Before  death  comes  to  release  a  man  he 
is  driven  mad  a  thousand  times  by  all 
their  devilish  inventions  and  surprises ! 
There  is  not  much  use  in  living  in  Post  Office 
Street,  far  removed  from  the  sight  of  a 
45 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

gun,  when  the  newspapers,  and  photo- 
graphs, and  information  from  people  spare 
me  none  of  the  horrors  ! 

What  good  does  my  suffering  do  to 
anyone  ?  I  don't  care  what  people  might 
say  to  this,  but  if  I  could  bewitch  or 
hypnotise  myself  to  get  this  war  out  of 
my  head,  I  would  do  so  without  the  smallest 
hesitation.  Since  I  am  not  fighting,  my 
torments  are  of  no  use  to  any  one.  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  lose  my  sleep  and 
thereby  get  too  ill  to  do  my  work  ! 

How  sad  it  is  that  Sasha  doesn't  under- 
stand it !  If  she  gave  the  matter  a  single 
thought  she  would  see  that  my  health  was 
essential  to  the  family,  and  that  if  I  began 
to  hate  the  Germans  as  she  and  mother  do, 
and  went  about  in  fear  and  trembling 
over  Pavel,  it  would  be  a  poor  look-out 
for  them  all.  There  she  is,  sleeping  with 
a  feeling  of  injury,  while  I  cannot  sleep, 
46 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

and  suffer  in  my  forced  loneliness.  Ah, 
Sasha,  Sasha  !  Do  you  think  my  lot  is 
an  easy  one  ?  I  envy  every  dog  barking 
innocently  in  its  back-yard,  for  it  knows 
nothing  of  Germans  slaughtering  Russians 
and  Russians  Germans !  Oh,  for  some 
dark  garret  in  which  to  hide,  as  when  a 
boy  I  used  to  hide  from  my  stepfather  ! 
"  How  shall  I  fly  from  thy  spirit  ?  " 

I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  from  child- 
hood I  have  never  been  in  the  habit  of 
dreaming ;  sleep  does  afford  me  a  certain 
forgetfulness  and  rest,  but  no  sooner  do 
I  wake  than  an  unbearable  irritation  takes 
possession  of  my  being  and  drives  me  to 
despair.  I  am  beginning  to  sleep  badly, 
too  :  I  lie  awake  straining  to  catch  some 
sound.  Sasha  is  also  uneasy  in  her  sleep  ; 
she  moans  and  throws  her  arms  about. 
I  feel  quite  sorry  for  her.  She  is  only  a 
woman,  after  all. 

47 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

We've  had  news  of  Pavel.  He  tells  us 
that  he  has  been  moved  to  some  base, 
so  that  we  can  be  easy  about  him  for  some 
time.  Mother  made  me  quite  angry  to-day. 
She  doesn't  seem  to  know  what  a  base 
means,  and  keeps  on  looking  for  Pavel's 
name  in  the  casualty  Hsts.  It's  useless 
to  tell  her  that  the  lists  are  old  ones.  She 
won't  believe  a  word  I  say.  The  poor  old 
lady  must  have  lost  her  senses  a  bit,  I 
think. 

This  has  been  a  most  unpleasant  day. 
Zvoliansky,  the  Pole  in  our  office,  enlarged 
on  the  subject  of  the  Turks  entering  the 
war.  He  was  stupidly  exultant  at  the 
prospect  of  Tsar-Grad  ^  and  the  Straits 
becoming  ours  !  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
what  a  fool  he  was,  and  how  glad  he  ought 
to  be  that  Petrograd  still  belonged  to  us 
without  bothering  about  Tsar-Grad.    I  got 

'The  Russian  for  Constantinople. 

48 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

a  picture  of  some  harmless  little  Turk 
sitting  quietly  in  Constantinople,  Ibragim- 
Bey  by  name,  perhaps,  or  Ilya  Petrovitch, 
as  we  should  call  him,  little  dreaming  as 
he  pats  his  round  belly  that  to-morrow  he 
will  make  a  target  for  our  smart  troops. 
I  wonder  what  he  would  say  if  he  were 
told? 

A  small  hospital  of  fifteen  beds  has  been 
opened  in  our  block  of  flats,  to  be  sup- 
ported by  the  different  residents.  I  shall 
do  my  share,  of  course. 

Ah,  Sasha,  Sasha,  dear  ! 

mh  October. 

Turkey  has  opened  hostilities  against 
Russia.  Dear,  dear,  how  the  war  is 
spreading ! 

mh  October. 

I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  how  I  came 
to  join  the  demonstration  over  Turkey, 
D  49 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

with  its  flags  and  banners.  To  think  of 
my  dragging  myself  about  the  streets 
singing  and  shouting  "  Hurrah  "  and  mak- 
ing a  fool  of  myself  generally!  What  a 
hero  I  felt!  My  heroism  has  brought  on 
a  bad  cold,  I  am  afraid.  I  have  a  stiff 
neck  to-day  and  feel  shivery  without  my 
coat.  When  I  got  home  I  found  a  large 
company  collected  there.  It  consisted  of 
Nikolai  and  his  wife  and  the  inevitable 
Kindiakov,  a  lawyer,  Sashenka's  friend, 
Fimotchka,  a  midv.dfe,  and  a  few  others, 
making  seven  in  all. 

To  celebrate  the  occasion  I  got  out  four 
bottles  of  wine,  presented  to  me  by 
Zvoliansky  some  time  back  in  August. 
We  were  more  intoxicated  by  the  news 
than  the  wine.  We  shouted  and  argued 
and  made  sport  of  Turkey ;  we  sang 
national  anthems,  Kindiakov  accompany- 
ing on  the  piano.  It  was  three  in  the 
50 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

morning  when  I  got  to  bed,  for  I  had  to 
see  Fimotchka  home  first.  It  is  well  that 
I  have  had  a  snooze  to-day,  otherwise  I 
should  have  been  very  irritable. 

This  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I 
have  taken  part  in  a  national  demonstra- 
tion, and  I  must  confess,  it  was  an  inter- 
esting experience.  I  shall  never  forget  it 
as  long  as  I  live.  This  may  seem  absurd 
to  the  more  experienced,  but  what 
interested  me  the  most  was,  that  no 
matter  where  we  marched,  on  pavement 
or  road,  the  traffic  stopped  to  make  way 
for  us.  And  then  the  flags,  the  spon- 
taniety  of  our  singing,  the  fact  that  police 
and  soldiers  saluted  us  as  we  passed, 
gave  us  a  martial  air,  and  made  us  feel 
as  though  we,  too,  were  part  of  the  war — 
we  were  the  troops  for  home  defence. 
There  were  some  retired  military  and  naval 
men  among  us,  and  one  old  fellow,  an 
51 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

admiral,  would  insist  on  us  marching  in 
time,  and  when  he  succeeded  in  making 
us  do  so,  now  and  again,  our  singing 
grew  more  measured  and  we  felt  more 
and  more  like  soldiers  on  their  way 
to  the  battlefield.  With  what  a  sense  of 
joy  did  we  sing  !  What  faith  we  had  in 
the  invincibility  of  our  strength,  and  how 
certain  we  felt  of  victory  !  I  don't  know 
whether  it  was  the  strangeness  of  the 
procession,  or  the  fact  that  the  streets 
looked  different,  but  despite  my  enthusiasm, 
the  sense  of  panic  I  had  felt  on  the  first 
day  came  over  me  again.  Distant  Turkey 
and  the  war  itself  seemed  to  have  come 
closer,  so  close  that  we  could  have  touched 
them  ;  we  felt  their  nearness,  and  the  sense 
of  security  was  gone.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  whole  structure  of  our  lives  would 
collapse,  and  we  should  go  down  into  the 
abysses  of  hell.  The  Turks,  again,  played 
52 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

no  part  in  this  fear  ;  we  despised  them  too 
much,  and  could  even  afford  to  pity  them 
for  having  been  duped  ;  our  fear  was  based 
on  some  inexplicable  cause.  Something  I 
saw  this  morning  would  perhaps  illustrate 
my  meaning.  On  the  way  to  the  office  I 
saw  a  load  of  young  trees  that  were  meant 
for  planting  somewhere,  no  doubt.  Their 
delicate  roots,  with  the  soil  clinging  to 
them,  were  in  baskets,  but  the  poor  things 
rocked  to  and  fro  on  the  boards.  They 
must  have  felt  very  forlorn  and  strange, 
and  were  wondering  where  they  were 
going.  The  new  soil  may  be  good  for 
them  in  time  to  come,  but  until  they 
become  accustomed  to  the  difference  be- 
tween the  old  soil  and  the  new,  they 
must  feel  very  insecure. 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  my  en- 
thusiasm or  my  fear  that  made  me  shout 
"  Hurrah,"  but  while  I  shouted  with  all 
53 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

my  heart  in  it,  I  thought,  nevertheless, 
"  My  God,  my  God,  when  is  it  going  to 
end  ?  "  I  looked  at  the  drizzling  sky, 
misty  and  grey  .  .  .  the  ways  of  the 
world  are  so  enigmatical  .  .  .  the  sky 
was  the  same  as  of  old,  the  houses,  those 
I  had  known  in  my  boyhood.  Where  was 
the  difference  then,  if  houses  and  sky 
and  people  were  the  same  ?  What  had 
happened  ?  I  reduced  myself  to  such  a 
state  in  the  end  as  to  wonder  whether  I 
had  changed  personally,  and  a  strong  desire 
came  over  me  to  see  my  own  face  in  the 
glass  as  I  shouted  "  Hurrah." 

My  enthusiasm  has  gone  to-day  and  my 
fear  too.  Nothing  on  earth  would  make 
me  open  my  mouth  to  shout  or  to  sing. 
I  am  filled  with  a  dull  aching  despair. 
My  God,  what  is  the  use  of  it  all  ?  As  a 
good  Russian  I  can't  help  being  pleased 
at  the  prospect  of  the  Straits  and  Tsar- 
54 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Grad  becoming  ours,  but  my  pleasure  is 
not  altogether  unalloyed.  We  have  got  on 
quite  well  without  Tsar-Grad  so  far,  and 
what  is  to  happen  to  my  fat  little 
Turk,  Ibragim-Bey,  who  can't  escape 
being  killed  ?     I  must  be  sorry  for  him. 

I  don't  know  why  I  compare  myself  to 
that  fat  little  Turk,  for  I  am  not  fat  at  all. 
It  seems  such  a  pity  that  he  should  be 
hurt  when  he  never  hurt  anyone.  His 
blood  will  rise,  of  course,  for  the  Turks 
are  a  fiery  race,  but  why  should  he  be 
roused  at  all  ?  Even  the  gentlest  dog 
will  turn  on  his  master  when  teased  enough. 
I  dislike  this  war  intensely,  for  all  the  fine 
talk  of  the  men  in  our  office. 

I  was  foolish  enough  to-day  to  try  to 
explain  to  Lidotchka  something  about 
the  war  and  Turkey.  I  even  pointed 
Turkey  out  to  her  on  the  map.  The  little 
thing  didn't  understand,  of  course ;  she 
55 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

was  more  interested  in  the  idea  that  there 
was  so  much  water.  She  made  me  leave 
my  paper  to  come  and  watch  her  skipping. 
Skip  away,  my  child,  skip  away,  and 
rejoice  that  you  are  not  a  Belgian  or 
Polish  child,  for  you  would  have  perished 
in  the  flames  or  been  killed  by  a  bomb 
dropped  from  the  clouds. 

How  horrible  to  think  that  even  children 
are  being  slaughtered ! 

27id  November. 

There  is  an  alarming  rumour  that  Warsaw 
has  been  taken  by  the  Germans.  All  the 
men  in  our  office  are  deeply  depressed, 
and  as  for  Zvoliansky,  the  Pole,  it  makes 
my  heart  ache  to  look  at  him. 

There  has  been  a  lot  of  unpleasantness 

at  home,  too.    Mother  has  come  to  hve 

with  us  for  good,  owing  to  a  fearful  scandal 

in  Nikolai's  family  about  Nikolai's   wife 

56 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

and  Kindiakov,  the  lawyer.  Husband  and 
wife  have  separated.  Sasha  tells  me  that 
Nikolai  tried  to  shoot  Kindiakov,  but 
missed  aim,  fortunately,  and  the  matter 
was  hushed  up.  Mother  happened  to  spend 
that  night  with  us,  and  was  consequently 
spared  the  disgraceful  scene.  How  people 
can  busy  themselves  with  love  and  jealousy 
at  a  time  like  the  present  is  more  than 
I  can  understand.  A  most  disgraceful 
business !  Nikolai  has  departed  for  the 
Caucasus,  his  wife  has  gone  off  with 
Kindiakov,  and  we  hear  that  she  wants 
to  go  on  the  stage,  or  something. 

We've  had  no  news  of  Pavel  for  three 
weeks,  so  one  can  easily  imagine  the  family's 
mood.  Three  weeks  is  not  a  long  time, 
when  one  takes  into  consideration  the  slow- 
ness and  uncertainty  of  the  army  posts, 
but  mother  refuses  to  consider  these  things, 
and  depresses  us  all  by  her  terrible  anxiety. 
57 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Added  to  her  other  misfortunes,  the  poor 
old  lady  is  ill  at  ease  and  rather  afraid  of 
me.  The  thought  of  her  dependence  on 
us  is  wounding  to  her  pride.  She  seems 
to  think  she  has  no  right  to  live  with  us. 
When  I  try  to  reassure  her  on  Pavel's 
account  by  pointing  out  the  uncertainty 
of  the  posts,  she  is  over  eager  to  agree 
with  me,  yet  looking  so  scared,  as  though, 
in  some  subtle  way,  I  had  asked  her  to 
leave  the  house.  I  rebuked  her  on  one 
occasion,  miable  to  contain  myself.  "  You 
really  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  think  of 
me  as  you  do.  Mother ;  you  put  me  in  a 
very  awkward  position.  I  am  only  think- 
ing of  your  good,  and  you  look  upon  me 
as  no  better  than  a  German  straight  from 
Berlin."  This  only  made  her  more  nervous 
than  ever.  How  ridiculous  it  is  !  When 
I  am  absent  she  does  nothing  but  cry,  I 
am  told,  but  when  I  am  at  home,  she  tries 
58 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

to  appear  cheerful,  and  by  the  way  she 
confuses  her  words  when  she  is  making 
some  joke,  one  can  see  what  she  is  really 
feeling.  She  has  just  brought  me  some 
coffee,  for  example,  and  forgotten  the  sugar. 
I  hate  the  old  lady's  having  to  wait  on  me  ; 
she  can  hardly  keep  up  as  it  is ! 

The  thing,  however,  that  causes  me 
the  greatest  anxiety,  is  my  dear  Sashenka. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  her.  This 
is  a  subject  one  can  only  speak  of  in  a 
diary.  I  have  mentioned  before,  I  think, 
that  a  small  hospital  has  been  opened  in 
our  block  of  flats,  to  be  supported  by  the 
various  inhabitants.  It  is  not  the  money 
I  grudge,  though  there  is  little  enough  of 
it,  God  knows,  but  with  the  arrival  of 
the  first  batch  of  wounded,  Sashenka  can't 
be  got  away  from  the  place,  in  her  womanly 
kindness ;  she  is  there  day  and  night. 
She  is  a  staff  nurse  now,  or  a  probationer, 
59 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

perhaps,  since  she  has  not  been  thi'ough 
the  training,  but  I  think  it  must  be  a 
nurse,  though. 

It  seems  that  one  could  raise  little 
objection  to  such  a  truly  Christian  spirit. 
All  our  friends  admire  Sashenka  for  what 
she  is  doing,  the  soldiers  adore  her,  and 
she  herself  finds  satisfaction  in  her  work. 
What  objections  could  there  be  to  raise 
in  such  a  splendid  arrangement  ?  I  can 
do  nothing  but  keep  them  to  myself, 
for  no  matter  how  right  I  might  be,  no 
one  would  give  me  the  credit  of  it.  I 
should  only  be  censured  by  people  and 
annoyed  by  their  distrust.  I  should  gain 
the  reputation  of  being  a  hopeless  egoist, 
and  a  tyrant,  who  wouldn't  allow  his  wife 
to  work  in  a  hospital.  It  is  certainly 
difficult  for  a  man  to  prove  his  case  when 
people  find  it  to  their  advantage  that  a 
woman  should  neglect  her  family  to  work 
60 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

for  others  and  help  mend  the  damage 
that  they  have  caused. 

My  conscience,  however,  compels  me 
to  say  that  Sashenka's  devotion  to  the 
hospital  is  selfish  and  \vicked  to  the  extreme. 
It  isn't  right  to  give  yourself  up  entirely  to 
charity  at  the  expense  of  your  own  home ! 
There  is  not  much  virtue  in  a  compassion 
that  devotes  itself  to  some  people  and 
neglect  others  equally  as  helpless. 

Some  things  a  man  doesn't  like  to 
mention  even  in  a  diary.  I  am  unlucky 
enough  to  have  a  bad  digestion.  It  is 
only  by  the  most  careful  diet  that  I  can 
keep  well  enough  to  support  my  family, 
and  Annisia,  our  cook,  gives  me  such 
horrible  food  as  to  make  me  quite  ill. 
The  digestion  of  an  Ilya  Petrovitch  is  a 
small  matter  in  face  of  the  horrors  of  the 
war,  the  suffering  of  the  wounded,  the 
destitute  and  fatherless ;  it's  hardly  decent 

ei 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

to  mention  it.  Doctors,  I  know,  look  with 
contempt  on  such  complaints  nowadays, 
yet  Ilya  Petrovitch  is  just  as  much  a  human 
being  as  the  rest ;  he  has  worked  honestly 
all  his  life  to  keep  his  wife  and  little  ones, 
and  I  maintain  that  his  digestion  has  every 
claim  to  attention  and  care. 

I  might  manage  with  my  scorned  diges- 
tion somehow  or  other  by  starving  my- 
self a  little,  but  what  can  I  do  with  the 
children  ?  We  have  three  little  ones,  of 
whom  Lidotchka,  the  eldest,  is  only  six  and 
a  half.  (I  married  late  in  life.)  Our  nurse, 
who  acts  as  housemaid  as  well,  is  a  most 
ignorant  creature,  and  is  able  in  good  faith 
to  poison  or  kill  a  child.  She  allowed 
Peter  to  get  his  feet  wet  the  other  day, 
and  the  poor  boy  had  to  stay  in  bed  for 
some  time  with  a  high  temperature.  The 
youngest  child,  Jena,  too,  is  not  very 
well ;  he  has  lost  all  appetite  and  grown 
62 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

pale  and  thin.  I  haven't  the  remotest 
idea  how  to  look  after  children.  When 
I  point  out  their  pitiable  condition  to 
Sashenka,  she  tells  me  to  get  mother  to 
look  after  them.  As  if  mother  could ! 
She  has  no  more  resistance  than  a  feather, 
and  can  think  of  nothing,  awake  or 
sleeping,  but  her  Pavel  in  the  trenches. 
Of  course,  she  could  have  done  it  at  one 
time,  I  admit,  but  not  now ;  she  is  too 
weak.  It's  not  fair  to  put  so  much 
responsibihty  on  the  old  lady's  shoulders. 
Her  efforts  are  pitiful  to  see.  I  don't 
know  whether  it  was  she  who  started  a 
game  with  the  children  the  other  day, 
or  whether  they  began  it,  but  they  knocked 
her  down  (not  meaning  any  harm,  of 
course)  and  nearly  suffocated  her  like  a 
kitten.  When  I  dragged  her  out  she 
burst  into  tears.  I,  too,  was  upset  at  sight 
of  her  trembling  head  and  ruffled  hair. 
63 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Dear,  dear  !  Sashenka  is  behaving  very, 
very  badly  !  We  are  not  responsible  that 
there  is  a  war.  The  war  has  no  right 
to  thrust  itself  among  us  like  a  brigand, 
and  lay  waste  our  home.  We  bear  enough 
trials  and  sacrifices  we  have  done  nothing 
to  deserve.  There  is  no  need  for  us  to 
throw  ourselves  down  for  the  war  to  walk 
over  us  as  the  Hindoos  throw  themselves 
beneath  the  chariot  wheels  of  their  evil 
god  Juggernaut.  I  refuse  to  accept  evil 
gods,  I  refuse  to  accept  the  war  for  all  its 
"  significance."  I  fail  to  see  the  good  of  it 
around  me,  least  of  all  in  my  own  home  ! 

Or  must  I  see  good  in  the  fact  that 
the  face  of  my  darling  Lidotchka  is  begin- 
ning to  show  signs  of  sadness  ?  The  poor 
little  thing  is  already  trying  to  exert  her 
little  mind  in  attempts  to  cheer  me  when 
she  sees  me  dull  and  depressed.  Her  little 
hands,  too,  are  trying  to  be  useful  by  help- 
64 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

ing  to  wash  up  the  glasses  and  to  nurse 
Jena.  She  herself  is  badly  in  need  of  a 
nurse. 

The  cost  of  living  is  rising  in  the  most 
appalling  manner.  The  luxury  of  a  cab 
or  a  theatre  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Even 
a  tram  fare  needs  consideration  nowa- 
days ;  one's  legs  have  to  serve  one  in 
good  stead.  I  am  glad  of  the  extra  work 
from  the  office  in  real  earnest  now,  and 
thankful  that  there  is  still  such  work 
to  take  home.  We  were  compelled  to 
give  up  the  piano.  And  the  cursed  war 
is  only  at  its  beginning ;  it  is  only  getting 
into  the  way  of  it,  so  to  speak.  What 
horrible  deeds  men  are  perpetrating  over 
there !  To  leave  the  lower  orders  out  of 
the  question,  men  of  the  higher  professions, 
such  as  scholars,  professors,  lawyers,  are 
devouring  each  other  like  wild  beasts ; 
they  have  grown  so  fiendish  as  to  lose 
E  65 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

every  spark  of  human  feeling.  What  is 
science  and  rehgion  worth  after  that  ? 
There  was  a  time  when  you  could  rely 
upon  a  professor  as  on  a  stone  wall ;  you 
might  feel  sure  that  he  would  not  betray 
nor  hurt,  nor  kill,  because  he  knew  and 
understood  things,  now  he  is  just  as 
vicious  as  the  rest,  and  there  is  no  one 
left  to  rely  on. 

I  protest  against  the  popular  assertion 
that  we  are  all  (myself  included)  responsible 
for  the  war.  It's  too  absurd  for  argu- 
ment. I  know  that  some  people  think 
that  with  my  ideas  I  ought  to  march 
continually  about  the  streets,  neither  eating 
nor  drinking,  shouting  "  Stop  the  war," 
and  snatching  rifles  from  the  hands  of  the 
soldiers.  But  I  wonder  who  would  listen  to 
me,  except  the  policeman,  or  where  I  should 
find  myself,  if  I  carried  out  their  wishes, 
if  not  in  prison  or  in  a  lunatic  asylum  ? 
66 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

I  deny  all  responsibility  for  the  war,  and 
my  suffering  is  needless  and  senseless. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  have  a  small  piece  of  news.  Andrei 
Vasilevitch,  the  man  who  is  to  read  my 
diary,  has  been  decorated  with  two  St 
George  Crosses.  Being  a  friend  of  Sas- 
henka's  she  is  very  proud  and  pleased, 
but  I  wonder  if  Andrei  Vasilevitch  himself 
is  proud  and  pleased  ? 


15th  November. 

I  must  relieve  my  mind  about  this, 
come  what  may.  No  matter  how  many 
cigarettes  I  buy  nowadays,  I  never  seem 
to  have  any.  No  one  besides  myself 
smokes  at  home,  so  Sasha  takes  them 
to  her  wounded,  no  doubt.  I  can't  lock 
up  my  drawers  from  her,  can  I  ?  At 
the  merest  hint  to-day,  she  retorted,  "  You 
67 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

can  go  without  smoking  yourself,  but  I 
will  take  cigarettes  to  the  wounded !  " 
And  she  looked  at  me  in  such  an  uncanny 
way.  It  was  not  love,  but  hate  I  saw 
reflected  in  those  dear  eyes  of  hers.  I 
grew  cold  all  over,  and  a  feeling  of  despair 
settled  on  my  heart.  I  might  have  been 
sitting  in  the  trenches  on  a  damp  day 
and  some  confounded  German  aiming  at 
me.  I  shall  buy  two  thousand  cigarettes 
to-morrow  and  put  them  in  every  visible 
place  to  show  her  that  I'm  not  mean.  She 
ought  to  have  understood  that  it  was  not 
a  question  of  meanness.  Ah,  Sashenka, 
Sashenka ! 


19^^  November. 

I  often  visit  our  hospital.    It  is  now 
being  supported  by  the  town,  and  occupies 
two    stories    in    our    building.      I    suffer 
68 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

needless  torments  by  the  sight  of  the 
wounded — men  who  have  lost  an  arm  or 
a  leg,  or  their  sight.  The  effect  produced 
after  a  couple  of  hours  in  their  presence 
is  indescribable.  You  feel  perfectly  un- 
strung, particularly  after  the  arrival  of  a 
batch  of  "  fresh  ones,"  as  the  nurses 
call  them.  I  can't  help  going,  or  people 
would  think  me  a  brute,  so  I  suffer  and 
conform  to  public  opinion. 

A  certain  reservist,  no  longer  a  young 
man,  made  a  great  impression  on  me. 
He  told  me  that  when  he  first  went  out 
to  the  front,  he  resolved  not  to  take  life, 
and  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  in  a  bayonet 
attack  on  a  German  trench  he  threw  away 
his  rifle  as  they  charged  forward — a  most 
excellent  thing  to  do  it  seemed — but  when, 
together  with  his  fellows,  he  stepped  over 
the  fatal  barrier,  such  a  feeling  of  fury 
came  over  him,  that  he  dug  his  teeth 
69 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

into  some  German's  throat.  Now  he  rages 
at  night,  and  digs  his  teeth  into  his  pillow 
as  if  it  were  a  German's  throat,  and  there 
he  lies  tearing  and  screaming. 

Great  God,  supposing  such  a  thing  were 
to  have  happened  to  me  !  I  was  nearly- 
brought  to  the  condition  of  digging  my 
teeth  into  some  one  the  other  night, 
when  I  lay  awake  thinking  of  the  war 
and  the  Germans  who  had  started  it ; 
I  grew  so  terrified  at  the  possibilities 
in  me,  at  Sashenka's  empty  bed  (Sashenka 
is  on  night  duty  at  the  hospital),  at 
mother's  ghostly  face,  at  the  futile  destruc- 
tion, that  I  dressed  hastily  and  went  in 
to  Sashenka.  (The  hospital  being  in  our 
own  building  made  it  an  easy  thing  to 
do.)  Sashenka  was  not  surprised  at  this 
nocturnal  visit ;  she  just  asked  me  to 
be  quiet,  and  brought  me  a  cup  of  tea 
from  somewhere,  and  smiled.  There  was 
70 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

a  gentle  moaning ;  the  lamps  were  low, 
and  feeble  voices  called  "  Nurse  !  Nm-se  !  " 
Sashenka  led  me  over  to  the  man  who 
bites  and  tears  an  imaginary  German. 
The  poor  man,  his  head  completely 
bandaged,  was  squeezing  his  blanket  with 
both  hands,  "  Strangling  some  one," 
Sashenka  said.  She  gave  him  a  drink 
of  water,  and  he  seemed  to  grow  quiet 
after  that,  and  lay  with  his  hands  folded 
as  innocently  as  a  child. 

I  remained  in  the  hospital  until  day- 
break, but  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  for  a 
long  time  when  I  got  home.  I  wept 
aloud  from  sheer  pity.  The  thought  of 
the  man's  bandaged  head  and  pale  hands 
depressed  me  deeply. 

I  wonder  if  Sashenka  was  right,  after 

all  ?    Was    it    meanness    that    made    me 

regret  the  cigarettes  ?    My  God  !    I  could 

have  gone  down  on  my  knees  before  that 

71 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

wounded  man,  and  for  the  pleasure  of 
having  him  ask  me  for  a  cigarette,  I  could 
have  torn  out  my  own  heart !  How  short 
a  man's  memory  is  ! 


11th  December. 
By  the  same  post  we  received  four 
letters  from  Pavel.  He  is  alive  and  well, 
and  in  Prussia  once  more.  Needless  to 
say,  both  mother  and  Sashenka  and  I 
were  beside  ourselves  with  joy.  How 
absm"d  it  seems  !  Pavel  might  have  been 
killed  a  hundred  times  since  his  last  letter, 
and  yet  there  we  were  rejoicing  over  a 
piece  of  crumpled  paper  and  a  few  faint 
pencil  strokes  as  though  Pavel  himself 
stood  before  us.  Among  other  things, 
this  is  what  he  writes,  "  What  else  can 
I  tell  you,  my  dear  Sashenka  ?  Every- 
thing  here   is    so   interesting.    You   look 

n 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

at  the  moving  mass  of  men  in  the  snow 
and  twilight,  and  think.  .  .  .  Snow  .  .  . 
fields  .  .  .  Germany  .  .  .  great  events 
...  a  great  war  .  .  .  and  this  is  the 
war,  and  I  am  part  of  it.  An  officer 
comes  back  from  the  firing  lines,  soaking 
wet,  his  coat  and  hood  covered  with 
snow.  He  takes  off  his  coat  and  tries  to 
warm  himself  with  a  cup  of  tea,  and  you 
think  again,  '  This  then  is  the  great  war, 
and  this  is  the  great  Russian  army ! ' 
In  the  most  trifling  little  act  you  see 
something  of  the  passing  greatness.  The 
military  operations  on  our  front  have 
been  slow.  The  cold  and  the  snow  seems 
to  have  made  everything  heavy  to  move, 
especially  the  men.  There  is  not  much 
life  in  us,  wrapped  up  as  we  are,  and  the 
hardest  time  is  yet  to  come  !  I  am  having 
tea  in  the  officers'  mess  just  now,  in 
a  real  glass  ^nth  a  stand.  I  am  wTiting 
73 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

this  letter,  but  the  telephone  may  ring 
at  any  moment,  and  everything  will  change 
as  in  a  dream.  Our  battery  may  have  to 
be  moved  half  a  mile  to  right  or  left  or 
forward,  and  then  will  come  digging  in 
the  hard,  cold  soil  to  have  a  dug-out  ready 
by  night-fall  (it  is  horribly  cold  in  the 
trenches  now),  in  which  we  will  he 
down  to  sleep,  damp  and  hungry.  This 
is  not  fiction,  but  naked  fact.  Do  you 
know  what  blood  on  snow  looks  hke, 
Sashenka  ?  Like  a  red  water-melon. 
Isn't  it  funny  ?  " 

In  another  letter  he  tells  how  the  men 
covered  themselves  with  wet  straw  one 
night  in  a  thaw,  and  had  to  force  their 
way  out  of  it,  so  hard  had  it  frozen  by 
morning.  Poor  Pavel !  and  we  rejoiced 
over  his  letter ! 


74 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

31 5^  December. 

A  blizzard  has  been  blowing  all  day, 
drifting  the  snow  into  every  street. 
Mountains  of  it  have  fallen.  Walls  and 
cornices  and  windows  are  covered  with 
snow.  There  might  not  have  been  a  town 
at  all ;  the  houses  seemed  to  be  standing 
in  absurd  array  in  the  midst  of  snowy 
fields.  I  happened  to  pass  the  Isaac 
Cathedral.  The  snow  had  drifted  on  to 
pillars  and  steps.  The  pillars  were  so 
cold  that  it  made  one  shudder  to  look 
at  them.  Men  and  women,  muffled  up, 
fought  their  way  against  the  wind ;  only 
those  who  were  compelled  to,  ventured 
out  of  doors,  the  rest  kept  within.  I 
began  to  wonder  suddenly  what  it  would 
be  like  to  have  no  home  to  go  back  to, 
and  to  be  forced  to  remain  in  the  streets 
in  weather  like  this.  It  would  be  enough 
75 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

to  drive  one  mad.  What  is  it  like  in 
the  trenches  now  ? 

I  have  no  time  for  my  diary  nowadays. 
I  bring  home  so  much  work  from  the  office 
as  to  leave  me  hardly  any  breathing 
space.  And  my  health,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  is  anything  but  good ;  I  am  always 
tired  and  sleepy  and  cold — so  cold  that  I 
find  it  hard  to  keep  warm  in  bed  with  my 
two  heavy  blankets.  Our  house  is  a  warm 
one,  fortunately. 

It  is  nearly  Christmas,  and  still  there 
is  no  end  to  the  war.  In  the  squares, 
where  in  former  years  Christmas-trees  used 
to  be  sold,  soldiers  are  drilling.  They 
help  to  make  things  jolly,  though.  You 
can't  help  being  drawn  to  them.  I  saw 
a  curious  sight  in  the  Palace  Square  the 
other  day,  which  amused  me  very  much 
at  a  first  glance.  About  fifty  men  were 
driUing  there,  and  seen  from  the  distance, 
76 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

they  looked  as  though  the  sun  were  shining 
full  on  them.  The  effect  was  strange, 
for  it  was  a  dull  day  and  the  sun  had  not 
been  out  at  all.  I  laughed  when  I  came 
closer.  Every  man  of  them  had  a  red 
beard,  which  gave  the  effect  of  sunlight. 
My  silly  laughter  died  away,  however, 
when  I  came  closer  still,  for  though  the 
beards  were  red,  the  faces  were  old  and 
pale  and  drawn ;  there  was  no  light 
in  the  eyes  ;  dull  despair  was  expressed 
in  them.  They  were  reservists,  men  who 
had  families,  no  doubt.  I  learnt  after- 
wards that  men  with  red  beards  were 
chosen  for  some  special  regiment. 

I  am  trying  to  earn  as  much  as  I 
possibly  can  to  be  able  to  take  Sasha  and 
the  children  to  Finland  for  a  few  days  at 
Christmas,  if  only  to  get  away  from  the 
newspapers  for  a  bit.  It  would  do  Sasha 
good  to  get  a  rest  from  the  hospital,  and 
77 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

I,  too,  am  tired.  The  rooms  seem  so 
gloomy,  as  though  we  were  going  blind. 
We  can  hardly  distinguish  each  other's 
pale  faces  in  the  gloom.  I  am  very,  very 
tired. 

Monday,  Uh  January. 
Pavel  has  been  killed.    God  help  us  ! 


Night. 

Pavel,  my  poor  dear !  I  never  made 
enough  of  you,  not  knowing  you  would 
die  so  soon,  and  now  you  are  no  more, 
and  my  bitter  tears  cannot  help  you ! 
If  I  could  only  gaze  once  more  into  your 
dear,  grey  eyes,  hear  your  hesitating  laugh, 
see  your  funny  little  moustache  we  used 
to  chaff  you  about  so  much !  But  now 
you  are  dead.  Dead  !  I  can't  think  that 
it's  true ! 

78 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

My  boy,  my  friend,  my  defender,  my 
words  cannot  reach  you  in  the  cold  earth  ! 
If  I  could  only  put  my  arms  about  you, 
my  poor,  lonely  boy,  and  let  the  warmth 
of  my  body  pass  into  yours  !  And  you 
will  never,  never  know  how  the  war  is 
going  to  end,  and  you  used  to  be  so  keen 
about  it !   .   .   .  Pavel,  Pavel !   .   .   . 


79 


PART  II 

ISth  January. 

It  was  Petrov,  a  volunteer  and  friend  of 
Pavel's,  who  informed  me  about  his  death. 
To  spare  his  mother  and  Sashenka  a 
sudden  shock,  Pavel  must  have  arranged 
with  his  friend  to  write  to  my  office  address 
in  case  of  need,  so  that  I  should  be  the  one 
to  break  the  terrible  news  to  his  nearest 
and  dearest.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
awful  moment  when  I  tore  open  the 
envelope  marked  "  On  active  service," 
and  addressed  in  an  unfamiliar  hand,  a 
fact  which  in  itself  foreboded  evil,  and 
read  the  few  lines  it  contained.  .  .  .  The 
men  in  our  office  were  very  sympathetic, 
but  what  did  their  sympathy  matter  to 
F  81 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

me  ?  I  went  home  at  once,  wondering, 
in  agony,  how  I  was  to  break  the  news 
to  mother  and  Sashenka.  When  I  reached 
Sashenka's  hospital  I  tm'ned  away  again, 
not  daring  to  go  in,  and  for  a  couple 
of  hours  I  paced  the  streets ;  I  even 
wandered  aimlessly  into  the  Philipov  Cafe. 
I  can't  remember  whether  it  had  been 
snowing  hard  that  day,  but  everything 
seemed  deadly  white.  People  and  tram- 
cars  seemed  weird  and  strange  ;  the  sound 
of  a  car  bell  vibrated  painfully  through 
the  brain ;  it  seemed  as  though  human 
beings  were  drowned  in  silence,  and  only 
the  car  bells  rang  and  rang  like  mad. 
I  could  not  cry  at  the  time ;  my  tears 
were  dried  by  the  thought  of  Sashenka 
and  mother. 

Why  need  I  describe  a  condition  that 
must  be  so  plain  to  every  one  ?  I  must 
say  this,  however,  I  would  sooner  die  a 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

thousand  deaths  than  have  to  tell  any 
woman  that  her  son  has  been  killed. 
Rather  than  go  through  the  experience 
a  second  time,  to  gaze  into  trusting, 
innocent  eyes,  I  would  sooner  lay  hands 
on  myself.  Grieved  as  I  am  over  Pavel's 
death,  I  can't  help  rejoicing  that  the  ordeal 
is  behind  me  and  will  never  have  to  be 
repeated  again.    Death  would  be  easier. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  we  did  not 
go  to  Finland.  Sashenka  deserted  the 
hospital  during  those  sad  days,  and, 
hiding  her  own  grief,  she  did  all  she  could 
to  console  mother.  The  old  lady  is  neither 
dead  nor  alive.  I  find  it  hard  to  under- 
stand her  condition.  For  hours  at  a  time 
she  will  cry  in  some  corner,  or,  with 
Sashenka,  she  will  go  to  church  to  haVe 
a  Mass  said  for  the  dead,  or  she  will  wander 
aimlessly  about  the  rooms,  and  begin  to 
dust  some  place  where  not  a  speck  of  dust 
83 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

is  to  be  seen.  She  brings  me  my  coffee 
without  any  sugar,  as  usual.  Yesterday 
she  disappeared.  After  an  hour  and  a  half 
had  gone  by  we  grew  anxious  and  made 
a  search.  We  found  her  locked  in  the 
lavatory.  She  couldn't  open  the  door,  and 
wouldn't  give  a  sign  of  life,  even  though 
she  must  have  heard  us  calhng  her.  It 
was  only  after  we  had  banged  and  banged 
at  the  door  that  she  made  a  feeble  soimd. 
The  numbers  and  numbers  of  times  we 
had  shown  her  how  to  lock  and  unlock 
that  door,  and  still  she  couldn't  do  it. 
In  the  end  I  had  to  fetch  a  locksmith  to 
get  her  out. 

When  Sashenka  reproved  her  for  not 
answering  when  she  was  called  the  old 
lady  burst  into  tears.  She  is  more  sensi- 
tive than  ever.  Now  nurse  or  Lidotchka 
have  to  take  her  to  the  lavatory ;  it 
isn't  safe  to  let  her  go  alone. 
84 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

What  an  awful  Christmas  this  is,  to 
be  sure !  The  days  are  more  or  less 
bearable,  but  when  I  go  to  bed  at  night 
I  lie  in  dread  of  hearing  either  Sashenka 
begin  to  sob  in  her  bed,  or  mother  in  the 
adjoining  room.  They  may  lie  quiet  until 
daybreak  sometimes,  and  then  a  bed 
will  begin  to  shake  with  sobbing,  and 
so  it  goes  on  and  on.   .   .   . 

The  last  time  we  saw  Pavel  was  on  the 
fourth  of  August  when  we  were  in  the 
country.  Mother  happened  to  be  staying 
with  us  at  the  time,  too.  His  regiment 
was  on  its  way  south  to  the  front  from  some 
remote  part  of  Finland,  and  having  to 
wait  about  an  hour  and  a  half  for  a  change 
of  trains,  he  rushed  over  to  see  us.  It 
was  getting  dark  when  he  came,  and  his 
visit  was  so  unexpected  that  we  com- 
pletely lost  our  heads  at  sight  of  him. 
He  had  on  his  heavy  field  kit  with  a  kettle 
85 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

and  bag  slung  over  his  shoulder,  and  was 
grimy  and  dusty.  He  had  an  unfamiUar 
smell  about  him,  and  looked  so  strange  in 
his  uniform  with  his  closely-cropped  hair 
that  was  just  beginning  to  grow  a  little. 
He  had  been  digging  and  felling  timber, 
and  looked  more  like  a  peasant  than  a 
soldier.  "  Wish  me  luck,"  he  managed 
to  whisper,  "  we  are  going  to  Warsaw." 

We  couldn't  talk  properly,  and  said  the 
silliest  things  that  came  into  our  heads. 
We  were  so  anxious  to  make  him  eat, 
and  he  was  as  hungry  as  only  a  soldier 
can  be.  We  sat  out  on  the  verandah, 
I  remember.  We  examined  his  rifle  in 
turn ;  it  looked  pretty  and  straight ;  I 
can't  remember  the  number  of  it,  though 
he  told  us.  I  can't  remember  even  the 
expression  of  his  face.  I  know  only  that 
there  was  something  peculiar  about  it. 
I  wanted  to  lead  him  from  room  to  room. 
86 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

I  wanted  to  say,  "  Bid  good-bye  to  every- 
thing, Pavel,  for  you  may  never  return, 
and  may  never  see  it  again." 

He,  too,  had  the,  same  thought,  no  doubt, 
but  neither  of  us  dared  to  give  expression 
to  it,  and  we  sat  on  the  verandah  Uke 
strangers,  and  made  no  attempt  to  go 
into  the  house  at  all.  When  he  was  forced 
to  leave  us,  we  accompanied  him  to  the 
station,  which  was  quite  close,  and  we 
gave  him  a  hasty,  affectionate  kiss  and 
watched  him  clamber  into  the  goods- 
waggon  filled  with  his  jolly,  laughing 
comrades.  Soon  the  long  train  started, 
the  soldiers  shouted  "  Hurrah  "  and  then 
it  was  over,  and  all  was  still.  I  can  still 
see  that  receding  red  lamp  at  the  back 
of  the  train.  I  remember,  too,  how  quiet 
and  dead  the  house  seemed  when  we 
got  back  to  it. 

And  now  Pavel  is  dead,  and  we  do  not 
87 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

even  know  where  he  is  buried.  I  cannot 
picture  the  place,  no  matter  how  hard 
I  try.  I  am  dazed ;  I  don't  understand 
what  is  happening ;  I  don't  understand 
the  war.  I  feel  only  that  it  crushes  us, 
and  there  is  no  salvation  for  any  of  us, 
big  or  small.  My  thoughts  are  all  broken  ; 
my  soul  seems  like  a  strange  house  where 
I  cannot  find  a  comfortable  spot  to  rest 
in.  What  was  I  like  before  the  war  ? 
I  don't  remember. 

A  huge  pair  of  hands  seem  to  hold  me 
in  their  grasp,  moulding  me  into  some 
fantastic  shape,  hands  that  are  too  strong 
for  resistance. 

SOth  January. 

What  a  scare  we've  had  to-day  !    Mother 

disappeared   from    the   house.     She    went 

out   early   in   the   morning   and   was   not 

back  by  the  evening.     I  was  at  the  office 

88 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

as  usual,  and  Sashenka  was  at  the  hospital. 
Our  fool  of  a  nurse  couldn't  tell  us 
anything,  as  she  never  noticed  when 
the  old  lady  first  went  out,  and  hadn't 
the  sense  to  let  either  of  us  know  when 
she  missed  her.  I  was  naturally  alarmed  ; 
absent-minded  as  mother  is,  she  might 
have  been  run  over  by  a  tram  or  a 
motor. 

I  fetched  Sashenka  and  we  began  to 
hunt  for  her.  I  telephoned  to  every  one 
of  our  friends,  and  to  nearly  all  the 
police  stations  when  she  herself  appeared 
on  the  scene.  It  turned  out  that  she 
had  been  to  see  an  old  friend,  who  lived 
at  the  end  of  Vasily  Island,  and  had 
stayed  there  until  the  evening.  The  idea 
of  disappearing  like  that  without  a  word  ! 

When  Sashenka  reproved  her  she  was 
hurt,  and  burst  into  tears,  and  we  had 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  soothing  her 
89 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

afterwards.  The  old  lady  has  grown  more 
sensitive  than  ever.  We  shall  have  to 
keep  a  strict  eye  on  her. 

2nd  February. 

The  Germans  have  now  taken  to  sinking 
ships.  What  can  one  do  but  shrug  one's 
shoulders  at  such  mad  goings-on  ?  They 
have  passed  human  understanding.  The 
very  nature  of  a  submarine  must  be 
vicious  that  it  must  be  for  ever  destroying. 
Or  is  it  the  closeness  and  darkness  that 
stupefies  and  poisons  the  men  in  them 
and  makes  them  bestial  ?  The  fellows 
in  our  office  were  disgusted  and  indignant. 
I  only  shrugged  my  shoulders  in  perplexity. 
My  face  must  have  been  as  stupid  as 
that  of  a  German  who  sinks  ships.  What 
could  I  say  ? 


90 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

21th  February. 

I  caught  a  cliill,  and  have  been  at  home 
with  a  bad  attack  of  influenza  all  the  week. 
I  might  have  enjoyed  a  good  rest  in  spite 
of  my  indisposition  had  I  not  devoured 
so  many  papers,  nor  thought  so  much 
about  the  horrors  of  the  times.  The 
things  they  wi^ite,  the  things  that  go  on, 
are  simply  unbearable  !  One  fellow  made 
me  furious !  And  he  is  considered,  by 
some  mistaken  idea,  as  one  of  our  leading 
writers.  To  my  mind  his  pernicious 
article  is  nothing  short  of  criminal,  for 
all  that  the  men  in  our  office  are  so 
enthusiastic  about  it.  The  man  assures 
us  in  the  most  flowering  terms,  distorting 
every  fact,  that  the  war  will  bring  every 
possible  kind  of  good  to  humanity  all 
over  the  world — future  humanity,  that  is. 
At  present,  he  says,  we  must  sacrifice 
91 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

ourselves  for  the  good  of  posterity.  The 
war  is  hke  a  disease  that  destroys  separate 
cells  in  the  body,  at  the  same  time  re- 
generating the  whole  organism.  And  the 
"  cells  "  must  be  consoled  by  this  idea  > 
Who  are  these  "  cells,"  I  should  like  to 
ask  ?  I  suppose  he  means  me,  mother, 
our  poor  dead  Pavel,  the  millions  of  killed 
and  wounded,  and  the  rest  who  will  soon 
lie  buried  in  the  cold  earth  !  An  excellent 
idea ! 

It  seems  that  we  "  cells "  must  not 
only  refrain  from  protesting,  rebelling, 
but  we  must  not  even  feel  pain ;  we  must 
submerge  ourselves  with  the  most  wild 
rejoicing,  for  the  general  good,  exulting 
that  we  have  been  of  some  use !  But 
what  if  we  don't  want  to  exult !  We 
are  held  responsible  just  the  same.  The 
war  will  take  five,  ten  millions  of  us,  if 
it  deems  necessary,  and  then  will  come 
92 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

the  process  of  healing  and  happiness. 
According  to  the  worthy  writer's  words, 
the  broken  remnants  of  humanity  will 
suddenly  repent  of  their  sins,  understand 
certain  wonderful  truths,  and  begin  to 
love  each  other — they  will  turn  into  angels, 
in  fact.  I  should  like  to  take  the  man 
who  preaches  this  gospel  and  have  him 
well  flogged  while  there  are  still  rods  in 
the  world  with  which  to  do  it,  and  we 
haven't  grown  wings !  It  would  be 
awkward  to  flog  an  angel ! 

From  now  onwards  I  am  no  longer 
Ilya  Petrovitch  Dementev,  but  a  "  cell," 
with  no  right  even  to  think  for  myself 
for  fear  of  upsetting  the  whole  show ! 
No,  sir,  I  am  not  a  "  cell "  but  Ilya 
Petrovitch  Dementev,  as  I  always  was — 
a  man  with  all  a  man's  rights  !  You  may 
ask  me  as  much  as  you  like  to  die  exulting, 
but  I  refuse  to  die  dancing !    If  it  should 

9a 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

so  happen  that  you  drive  me  to  my  grave 
or  to  the  lunatic  asylum,  I  will  die  in 
hatred,  cursing  those  who  murdered  me. 
I  am  not  a  "  cell,"  and  I  refuse  to  become 
an  angel  after  your  pattern !  I  would 
much  rather  be  Ilya  Petrovitch,  the  sinner 
that  I  am,  answerable  to  God  alone  for 
my  sins  ! 

I  refuse  to  perish  for  the  good  of  pos- 
terity !  I  haven't  the  smallest  desire  to 
do  so  !  Where  is  the  sense  in  it  all,  if 
the  man  of  yesterday  suffered  for  me, 
and  I  must  suffer  for  the  man  of  to-morrow, 
and  the  man  of  to-morrow  must  suffer 
for  the  man  of  the  day  after  to-morrow  ? 
We  have  had  enough  of  such  frauds  and 
deceptions !  I  want  to  live  and  enjoy 
the  good  things  of  life,  and  not  convert 
myself  into  manure  for  the  nurture  of 
some  delicate  person  of  the  future  with 
tender  white  hands  !  I  detest  that  future 
94 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

person   and   the   glories   that   are   to   be 
his! 

A  "  cell "  indeed !  Pavel,  I  suppose, 
must  find  consolation  in  the  thought  in 
his  unknown  grave  in  some  Prussian 
cabbage-field,  and  mother  must  dry  up 
her  tears  and  paint  her  cheeks.  It  was 
not  her  son  who  was  killed,  but  a  "  cell  " 
to  whom  nothing  better  could  have 
happened !  How  wicked  and  presump- 
tions a  man  must  be  to  compare  a  human 
being — sacred  as  he  is — to  a  "  cell."  The 
blackguard !  Instead  of  dancing  on  my 
grave  if  I  should  die,  he  ought  to  shed 
tears  for  me.  He  ought  to  shed  tears 
for  every  man  who  dies,  for  once  dead, 
no  one  returns !  For  all  that  he  is 
a  great  writer  and  I  an  insignificant 
little  man  of  whom  the  world  has  never 
heard,  he  should  scatter  flowers  on  my 
grave,  mourn  for  me  with  all  the  tears 
95 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

he  can  command,  and  pity  me  with  all 
the  pity  in  his  heart !  This  comes  of 
speaking  of  men  in  numbers  like  so  much 
grain !  The  very  look  of  a  figure  takes 
all  the  sense  out  of  one.  Millions,  indeed  ! 
Man  is  not  so  much  seed  to  be  measured ! 
Anyone  who  can  speak  of  a  human  being 
in  other  than  the  dignified  term  of  man, 
and  can  look  upon  him  as  no  more  than  a 
figure  in  a  number,  is  a  servant  of  Satan. 
He  deceives  himself  and  others.  When 
a  man  begins  to  count  other  men,  he  loses 
all  values  and  every  sense  of  pity.  Here 
is  an  example  of  my  meaning  in  a  few 
words  taken  out  of  my  paper,  reporting 
some  engagement.  "  Our  losses  were  in- 
significant ;  only  two  killed  and  five 
wounded." 

Who  considers  these  losses  insignificant, 
I  wonder  ?    Is  it  the  killed  ?    I  should 
like  to  hear  what  they  had  to  say  on  the 
96 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

subject,  if  they  could  rise  from  their 
graves  !  Would  they  consider  the  losses 
insignificant  when  they  recalled  their  child- 
hood, their  kith  and  kin,  the  women  they 
had  loved,  their  emotions  and  terror  as 
they  marched  along,  and  how  all  was 
cut  short  by  the  horror  of  death.  .  .  . 
Insignificant  losses,  indeed !  The  black- 
guard ought  to  be  made  to  realise  whom 
it  is  that  he  serves  with  his  clever  arith- 
metic to  keep  him  from  his  lying  state- 
ments regarding  the  welfare  of  the  human 
race  about  which  he  is  so  ignorant. 

Condfound  the  beggar,  how  furious  he's 
made  me ! 

The  children  are  well.  Lidotchka 
has  lost  two  milk  teeth,  making  her  face 
look  sweeter  than  ever.  It's  nice  to  have 
a  clever  child.  During  my  illness  she 
read  me  fairy  tales,  spelling  out  each  word. 


97 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

11^;^  March. 

Fimotcbka  lias  just  made  an  interesting 
discovery.  Just  before  the  war,  she  says, 
red  was  very  much  in  fashion.  Women 
wore  red  dresses,  and  hats  and  ribbons 
and  all  the  other  little  requisites  peculiar 
to  the  sex.  As  far  as  I  can  remember, 
this  seems  to  be  true.  I  wonder  if  it  was 
not  some  presentiment  of  the  bloodshed 
that  was  to  come  ?  How  blind  the  people 
were  to  have  considered  it  an  attractive 
colour !  No  one  wears  red  now ;  as 
a  colour  it  seems  to  have  disappeared, 
washed  out  by  wind  and  rain.  In  what 
darkness  must  man  grope,  when  the 
choice  of  his  garments  is  not  left  to  his 
free  will ! 

I  am  tired,  and  not  drawn  to  my  diary. 
I  have  so  much  to  do  and  so  little  time. 
The  confounded  war  simply  eats  up  the 
98 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

money.  No  matter  how  hard  you  work, 
you  cannot  earn  enough. 

I  don't  know  whether  I've  grown  in- 
different to  the  wholesale  murder  going 
on,  or  that  I  take  a  saner  view  of  things, 
but  I  can  read  about  twenty  thousand 
killed  and  calmly  light  a  cigarette.  I 
no  longer  devour  the  papers  too,  as  in  the 
early  days,  when  I  was  always  rushing 
round  the  corner  for  the  new  editions, 
in  all  weathers.  It  doesn't  do  any 
good. 

Sashenka  is  at  the  hospital  as  usual,  and 
the  house  just  as  disorderly  as  before, 
but  I've  got  used  to  that  too,  and  hardly 
notice  what  food  I  eat.  Mother  is  like 
a  shadow  in  the  house  ;  you  would  hardly 
know  she  was  there.  To  drive  away  my 
depression,  I  have  taken  to  teaching 
Lidotchka,  and  to  read  fairy  tales  to  her. 
She  is  a  dear  child !  In  our  gloomiest 
99 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

moments  she  lights  up  our  house  Hke  a 
sacred  lamp. 

I  have  another  confession  to  make  which 
will  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  the 
serious-minded.  I  have  no  need  of  their 
approval,  thank  God.  Fimotchka  called 
one  day  when  Sashenka  was  out,  and 
seeing  how  depressed  I  was,  taught  me 
to  play  Patience.  It's  a  silly  game  for  a 
grown  man  to  play,  but  if  you  happen  to 
be  in  the  condition  when  you  can  neither 
take  in  what  you  read  nor  what's  being 
said  to  you,  it's  very  comforting,  and  gets 
so  interesting  sometimes  that  you  forget 
about  your  sleep.  I  tried  to  teach  Mother 
the  game,  but  she  either  couldn't  or 
wouldn't  understand ;  she  seemed  to  look 
upon  it  as  an  attempt  on  my  part  to 
interfere  with  her  legitimate  grief. 

I  came  across  a  curious  saying  in  the 
calendar :  "If  you  don't  learn  to  play 
100 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

cards  in  your  youth,  you  are  storing  up 
a  sad  old  age." 

It's  not  a  question  of  playing  cards. 
One  would  jump  at  anything  at  a  time 
like  this. 

I'm  tired. 

ISth  March. 

I  got  a  letter  from  Andrei  Vasilevitch. 
After  expressing  his  sympathy  over  Pavel's 
death  (he  was  very  fond  of  Pavel)  he  asks 
me  to  excuse  him  for  writing  so  seldom, 
on  the  plea  of  being  busy  and  tired.  In 
answer  to  certain  questions  of  mine,  he 
gives  me  this  unexpected  piece  of  advice, 
"  Learn  from  the  Germans."  Here  is  an 
extract  from  his  extraordinary  letter  :  "I 
don't  like  the  Germans,  but  I  tliink  we 
would  do  well  to  learn  from  them,  especi- 
ally those  of  you  in  the  rear.  Mark  how 
the  Germans  build  up  the  walls  of  their 
state,  and  how  wise  they  are  in  their 
101 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

self-abnegation.  Knowing  that  you  can't 
build  a  good,  steady  wall  from  all  sorts  of 
irregularly-shaped  materials,  every  German 
voluntarily  rubs  off  his  corners  and  pro- 
jecting parts  to  make  himself  into  an 
even  brick.  From  these  bricks  alone  you 
get  a  good  wall,  and  when  the  mortar 
is  added  you  get  the  soundest  of  walls, 
not,  as  with  us,  a  ram-shackl©'  affair,  full 
of  holes.  Don't  be  afraid,  but  learn  from 
the  Germans,  Ilya  Petrovitch  !  " 

Excellent !  A  moment  ago  I  was  a 
"  cell "  and  now  I  am  to  turn  myself 
into  a  brick.  And  the  fact  that  I  am  a 
man  I  am  persistently  asked  to  forget. 
Ilya  Petrovitch  is  in  future  to  be  called 
brick  number  so  and  so. 

For  the  sake  of  argument  I  consent  to 

be  a  brick,  but  who  is  to  be  the  architect 

and  the  unscrupulous  contractor  ?    Must 

I  submit  if  the  architect  builds  a  brothel 

102 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

instead  of  a  temple  or  a  palace  ?  No, 
Andrei  Vasilevitch,  I  am  not  a  "  cell " 
nor  a  "  brick,"  but  Ilya  Petrovitch,  the 
same  as  I  always  was  and  mean  to  remain 
to  the  end  of  my  days.  There  are  many 
"  bricks  "  and  "  cells  "  in  the  world  of  one 
and  the  same  pattern,  but  I  am  the  one 
and  only  Ilya  Petrovitch,  and  there  never 
will  be  another  man  like  me.  With  every 
ounce  of  strength  I  possess  I  will  hold 
myself  apart  and  not  submit  to  the  war. 
I  refuse  to  have  my  wings  clipped  and  will 
not  be  badgered  by  your  noisy  drum  ! 

I  regret  to  have  been  foolish  enough 
to  take  my  difficulties  to  a  man  so  wrapped 
up  in  the  war.  He  no  doubt  despises  us 
heroes  of  the  rear. 

2Srd  March. 

Hurrah !      our    troops    have    captured 
Przemysl !     Petrograd  is  rejoicing.     What 
a  gloriously  happy  day  ! 
103 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

The  news  was  telephoned  to  our  office 
by  one  of  the  newspapers,  and  when  I 
heard  it,  such  a  tremendous  feehng  of 
joy  came  over  me,  that  I  snatched  up 
my  things  and  hastened  out  into  the 
street.  Our  Nevsky  had  never  looked 
so  festive  and  beautiful  before.  The  snow 
fell  fast  in  large  flakes  and  settled  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  crowd,  but  beneath  this 
covering  of  white,  flushed  cheeks  could  be 
seen  and  sparkling  eyes.  For  once  the 
citizens  of  Petrograd  had  good  complexions. 
Immediately  the  crowd  began  to  organise 
itself.  The  National  Anthem  was  struck 
up,  and  a  procession  started  to  the  palace, 
I  could  not  take  part  in  that,  unfortunately, 
for  I  had  to  return  to  the  office. 

What  a  day  of  joy  this  has  been  !    At 

last  I  begin  to  reahse  why  the  preceding 

days    and    months    had   been    so    gloomy 

and  hard  to  bear.     We  had  got  so  resigned 

104 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

to  our  hopelessness,  that  we  had  come  to 
regard  it  as  a  natural  condition.  It  seems 
strange  to  look  back,  to  think  even  of 
yesterday.  What  long  heavy  days  and 
nights  those  were  !  One  did  not  seem  to 
live  by  day,  nor  to  rest  by  night.  And 
when  I  think  of  my  confused  thoughts, 
my  silly  Patience  playing,  Mother,  our 
dirty,  untidy  house,  the  despair,  the  fear 
of  what  to-morrow  would  bring. 

I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  for  the  first 
time  during  the  war  I  have  realised  the 
meaning  of  the  word  "  Victory."  It  is 
no  little  thing,  it  raises  a  man  to  heights 
undreamed  of.  What  a  simple  word  it 
is !  and  how  many  are  the  times  one 
has  heard  it  spoken !  Victory,  victory ! 
now  I  know  how  wonderful  it  is.  I  could 
rush  from  room  to  room  shouting  it ! 

I  am  still  excited — with  a  pleasant 
excitement,  strange  to  say.  When  I  think 
105 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

that  I  am  a  Russian,  that  there's  a  country 
in  the  world  called  Russia,  the  hot  tears 
come  into  my  eyes.  The  sight  of  a  soldier's 
grey  uniform  in  the  street  fills  me  with 
emotion.  I  smile  and  wink  at  the  man 
and  make  a  fool  of  myself  generally.  The 
word  Russia  stirs  my  very  being.  How 
sweet  and  agitating  it  is,  for  all  that  it 
brings  the  tears  to  one's  eyes  ! 

Visions  of  rye-fields  keep  floating  before 
my  eyes,  and  when  I  shut  them,  I  see 
wheels  going  round  and  round  as  plainly 
as  on  a  kinematograph  film.  I  hear  larks 
singing  too.  I  love  larks ;  they  always 
sing  in  the  sky,  not  on  the  ground  or  in 
trees.  Other  birds  must  perch  themselves 
comfortably  on  a  tree,  smooth  down  their 
feathers  before  they  begin  to  sing,  and 
then  they  sing  in  chorus,  but  a  lark  sings 
alone  as  it  soars  in  the  sky.  Dear,  dear, 
how  I  have  wandered  off !  But  what  does 
106 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

it  matter,  so  long  as  I  keep  on  about 
something  ? 

Another  curious  thing  has  happened 
to-day.  For  the  first  time  since  Pavel's 
death  Sashenka  and  I  have  been  able 
to  talk  about  him,  and  we  talked  for  quite 
a  long  time,  too.  Our  new  victory  seemed 
to  touch  Pavel  also,  and  he  had  come 
to  take  his  eternal  place  at  our  fireside 
in  invisible  form.  Sashenka,  of  course, 
shed  a  few  tears,  but  they  were  not  like 
those  terrible,  solitary  tears  that  used  to 
shake  her  bed  at  nights.  We  decided  to 
go  to  church  together  on  the  morrow 
to  have  a  mass  said  for  our  dead.  Usually 
I  don't  like  this  ritual,  but  now  it  seemed 
not  only  proper,  but  a  pleasant  thing 
to  do. 

There  is  another  gratifying  event  to 
relate.  I  was  able  to  give  Sashenka  my 
views,  very  gently  expressed,  of  course, 
107 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

about  her  continual  absence  from  home, 
and  to  my  surprise,  she  did  not  flare  up, 
as  I  had  expected  her  to  do,  but  promised 
not  to  be  at  the  hospital  so  much,  and  to 
devote  herself  more  to  the  children  in 
future.  She  even  complained  of  feeling 
tired.  The  poor  thing  certainly  looks 
tired ;  I  have  only  just  noticed  how  thin 
and  pale  she  has  grown.  I  am  quite 
anxious  about  her.  However,  Sashenka 
looks,  if  anything,  more  beautiful  than 
ever.  What  a  blessing  beauty  must  be 
in  the  work  she  is  doing !  When  a  dying 
soldier  gazes  up  at  the  beautiful  face  of 
the  nurse  bending  over  him,  she  must  be 
to  him  a  symbol  of  love  and  beauty  on 
earth,  and  he  must  carry  her  image 
away  with  him  as  an  eternal  dream.  There 
must  be  many  dying  soldiers  who  would 
have  cursed  the  world  that  destroyed 
them,  but  for  the  sight  of  the  nurse's 
108 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

beautiful  eyes  that  made  him  forgive  and 
forget. 

For  the  first  time  I  do  not  resent 
Sashenka's  being  at  the  hospital  and 
leaving  me  alone.  There  is  something 
to  occupy  my  mind  now.  I  keep  on 
thinking  of  victory.  What  a  sense  of 
gladness  it  gives  !  How  many  times  have 
I  seen  the  word  in  novels  and  histories, 
and  of  late,  in  the  papers,  yet  only  now 
have  I  realised  what  an  alluring  beast  it 
is  !  Men  have  hunted  it  since  the  creation 
of  the  world ;  all  have  desired  it ;  all 
desire  it  now,  and  the  wonder  of  it  is 
ours !  Victory,  victory !  I  could  rush 
out  into  the  streets  and  proclaim  it  with 
brass  trumpets.    Victory  !   victory  ! 


Mth  March. 
Lidotchka  is  ill.    God  help  us. 
109 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Tlth  March, 
She  is  dead. 

9^^rd  March. 

It  is  three  months  since  I  have  touched 
this  diary ;  I  had  forgotten  about  its 
very  existence.  When  I  took  it  out  to-day, 
I  sat  for  some  time  staring  blankly  at  the 
last  page  containing  the  words,  "  She  is 
dead." 

"  She  is  dead,"  only  three  words  on  a 
sheet  of  ordinary  white  paper. 

God,  how  wretched  man  is  !  How  well 
I  remember  the  day  I  wrote  the  words  ! 
If  instead  of  the  white  paper  with  the 
few  scrawls  there  had  been  a  mirror  to 
reflect  eternally  the  face  of  the  man  who 
wrote  them  with  all  its  anguish  and  despair  ! 
What  do  these  words  convey  ? 

What  a  friend  this  diary  is  to  me  !  Its 
pages  contain  the  name  of  my  Lidotchka 
110 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

which  was  so  much  part  of  her  being. 
She  is  gone,  and  now  the  diary  only  remains 
to  me. 

Lidotchka  died  on  the  27th  March,  fom- 
days  after  we  had  taken  Przemysl.  She 
became  unwell  on  the  very  day  of  rejoicing 
and  her  illness  lasted  only  three  days  and 
three  nights.  It  was  appendicitis  she  had, 
in  an  acute  form,  only  we  did  not  realise 
it  until  it  was  too  late  to  do  anything. 
It  was  twenty-four  hours  before  we  could 
get  a  doctor  to  see  her,  every  man  of 
them  being  busy  at  the  military  hospitals. 
I  fell  in  with  one  in  the  street  who  turned 
away  as  soon  as  he  looked  at  her,  declaring 
that  there  was  no  danger,  and  we  could 
safely  wait.  The  child  was  dying,  and  he 
asked  us  to  wait,  and  we  waited !  I  was 
even  fool  enough  to  apologise  for  having 
kept  him  away  from  his  more  important 
duties.  We  waited  with  despair  in  our 
111 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

hearts  ;  we  did  not  like  to  worry  any  one 
needlessly.  We  smiled  and  tried  to  keep 
up  our  courage,  fools  that  we  were  !  When 
at  last  the  surgeon  from  Sashenka's  hospital 
came  he  declared  it  was  appendicitis,  and 
too  late  for  an  operation. 

How  could  I  have  believed  the  first 
man  and  waited  !  How  could  I  have  let 
her  lie  parched  with  fever,  moaning  and 
suffering,  and  do  nothing  ?  There  she  was, 
dying  and  trusting  me !  How  senseless 
and  wicked  it  was !  I  remember  her 
black,  trusting  eyes,  her  parched  lips  as 
I  touched  mine  against  them  lightly, 
and  how  I  stroked  her  tangled  hair.  On 
one  occasion  I  bathed  her  face  with  eau- 
de-cologne  and  felt  satisfied  that  I  was 
doing  all  that  was  required.  And  the 
poor  child  suffered  agonies.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  such  a  small  child  should 
suffer  such  great  pain. 
112 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

On  the  third  day  I  ran  about  hke  one 
possessed.  I  shouted  at  the  doctors,  I 
threw  money  in  their  faces.  "  I  will  pay  ! 
I  mil  pay !  "  I  cried  in  despair.  In  one 
doctor's  waiting-room,  I  can't  remember 
where  it  was,  I  struck  my  head  against 
the  lintel  of  the  door  in  a  woman's  presence, 
hoping  thereby  to  arouse  pity.  .  .  . 

But  that  is  nothing. 

For  hours  I  hunted  all  over  the  town, 
and  the  sm-geon  had  been  twice  to  our 
house  and  assured  me  that  an  operation 
was  useless  and  would  only  torment  the 
child  for  nothing.  I  put  her  into  the 
coffin  myself  and  carried  her  to  the  table. 

And  here  am  I  living  as  though  nothing 
particular  had  happened.  I  go  to  my 
office,  I  acknowledge  my  friends  in  the 
street,  I  read  the  papers.  We  are  being 
defeated  on  all  hands,  and  diiven  out  of 
Poland  and  Galicia.  Przemysl  has  been 
H  113 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

retaken.  We  never  got  a  chance.  The 
gendarme  Miasoyedov  sold  Russia  for  thirty 
pieces  of  silver.  Well,  well,  I  don't  exactly 
hate  every  one,  but  I'm  getting  on  in  that 
direction.    Only  I  hold  my  peace. 


^9th  June, 

How  can  I  express  my  grief  and  despair  ? 
They  are  beyond  words  and  tears,  and 
human  understanding.  I  scrutinise  my 
face  carefully  in  the  glass  to  see  if  I  have 
changed,  but  there  does  not  seem  any 
difference.  There  is  one  grey-haired  fool 
in  the  glass  and  another  outside  of  it. 
My  hair  has  turned  grey. 

30^^  June. 

When  the  great  die,  the  town  is  steeped 
in  mourning  and  flags    are    hung  up  to 
inform  the  population  of  the  fact.    Had 
114 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

I  been  great  and  had  I  possessed  the 
gift  of  eloquence,  I  would  have  raised 
my  voice  and  made  the  whole  world 
mourn  for  my  Lidotchka,  but  I  am  only 
an  insignificant  little  man,  and  can  merely 
cry  for  her  as  a  cow  cries  for  its  lost  calf. 
Even  a  cow  is  more  effective  in  her  grief, 
for  her  cries  may  be  heard  by  someone 
in  the  night,  while  I  have  to  stifle  my  sobs 
for  fear  that  others  may  hear  and  object. 

How  contemptible  I  am  !  nothing  but 
a  "  cell." 

I  remember  a  certain  day — a  day  to 
which  I  could  erect  a  bronze  memorial 
for  the  edification  of  posterity.  It  was  a 
week  after  Lidotchka's  death,  and  I,  like 
a  conscientious  worker,  returned  to  the 
confounded  office.  The  other  fellows  are 
kind-hearted  enough  ;  they  remarked  upon 
the  fact  that  my  hair  had  turned  grey, 
and  expressed  their  sympathy  in  the  usual 
115 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

polite  way  of  "  Lost  a  little  daughter  ? 
Dear,  dear,  what  a  pity  it  is  !  " 

It  was  a  pity,  but  what  did  it  matter  ? 
Wasn't  I  working  and  adding  up  figures  ? 
When  the  band  of  crepe  caught  the  eye 
of  the  sympathetic,  I  was  greeted  \\dth, 
"  Have  you  lost  someone  at  the  war  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  the  war.  I  have  lost  my 
little  daughter  Lidia." 

"  Oh !  " 

I  could  see  they  were  disappointed. 

Zvoliansky,  the  Pole,  remarked  casually 
— with  every  degree  of  politeness  and 
propriety,  of  course,  that  no  one  ought 
to  wear  mourning  at  a  time  like  this,  not 
even  for  relatives  killed  at  the  front.  One 
must  consider  the  pubhc  nerves.  It  stands 
to  reason  that  when  a  man  dresses  himself 
up  in  a  smart  tie  and  patent  shoes  he 
doesn't  want  to  meet  the  spectacle  of  a 
gloomy,  grey-haired  old  man  in  mourning. 
116 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

It  would  spoil  his  pleasure.  Zvoliansky  did 
not  dare  to  say  as  much,  but  his  remarks 
implied  it  plainly.  If  people  had  no  right 
to  wear  mourning  for  those  killed  at  the 
front — the  only  dead  that  matter  now — 
what  right  had  I  to  wear  it  for  a  six-year- 
old  little  girl  who  died  a  natural  death  ? 
Weren't  there  enough  six-year-old  little 
girls  in  the  world  ? 

I  was  led  to  understand,  though  it  was 
gently  done,  that  I  had  acted  inconsider- 
ately in  flaunting  my  grief  before  the 
eyes  of  others.  It  was  as  though  I  had 
got  drunk  in  the  midst  of  the  general 
sobriety.  A  casual  acquaintance  met  in 
the  street  made  me  realise  this  to  the 
full  with  his  exclamation  of  "A  little 
girl?    Oh!" 

But  do  I  argue  ?  I  have  submitted 
to  public  opinion  and  put  my  band  of 
crepe  in  my  pocket.  I  must  be  careful 
117 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

of   other   people's   feelings.     As  a  patriot 
I  have  no  right  to  hurt  anyone.     A  patriot 
or  a  worm,  I  wonder  ? 
But  I  hold  my  tongue. 

Srd  July. 

It  was  raining  and  I  walked  under 
my  umbrella,  wondering  what  was  the 
most  important  of  all  things.  The  most 
important  thing  of  all  is  to  bury.  Killing 
doesn't  matter,  it  will  happen  sometimes, 
but  to  bury  is  essential.  As  soon  as  things 
are  covered  up  and  nothing  is  to  be  seen, 
all  is  well.  What  would  it  be  like  if  the 
four  or  five  million  who  have  now  been 
killed  had  been  left  unburied  ?  What  a 
stench  there  would  be,  and  how  many 
torn  uniforms  ! 

Despair,  and  no  way  to  express  it. 
Like  a  fool  I  can't  say  what's  in  my  heart. 
And  how  long  my  legs  have  grown !  I 
118 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

can   feel  how   long   they   are   as   I   walk. 
Am  I  going  mad  ? 

The  same  night. 

You  may  call  me  a  heartless  blackguard, 
a  criminal  or  anything  you  like,  but  by 
God,  I  am  not  in  the  least  sorry  for  our 
killed.  I  don't  care  what  happens  to  our 
men.  I  didn't  order  them  to  be  killed. 
If  men  will  rend  and  kill  each  other,  let 
them,  by  all  means  ;  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  me. 

The  house  seems  deserted  and  full  of 
horrors  invisible.  Last  year,  at  this 
time,  we  were  in  the  country,  Lidotchka 
was  with  us  and  no  foreboding  of  ill. 

I  wonder  sometimes  when  I  look  at 
Peter  and  Jena,  my  two  youngest  children, 
whether  it  wouldn't  be  best  to  tie  a  piece 
of  cord  around  their  necks  and  jump  off 
the  Troitsky  Bridge  with  them  into  the 
119 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

water.  No  one  wants  them,  they  are 
miserable,  neglected  little  "  cells."  They 
keep  on  crying  all  the  time.  Peter  nearly 
cut  his  head  against  the  table,  and  came 
to  me  to  kiss  his  bump  and  pity  him, 
but  I  can't  pity.  Poor  children  !  Their 
mother  is  in  the  hospital  looking  after 
the  wounded — doing  her  duty  ;  their  father, 
like  Satan,  rummages  about  the  streets 
for  peace  of  mind,  and  they  are  left  with 
a  stupid  nurse  and  a  half-witted  grand- 
mother.   What  an  existence ! 

What  a  strange  animal  man  is !  I 
can  make  my  blood  flow  with  one  prick  of 
my  knife — but  I  can't  wring  a  single  tear. 
I  can't  sleep  in  consequence,  and  am 
frightened  of  my  sofa.  I  sleep  in  my 
study  now,  on  the  sofa.  That  is  to  say, 
I  toss  about  the  live-long  white  night.  The 
light  comes  in  at  window,  for  there  are 
no  curtains  over  it. 

120 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Last  night,  tired  of  tossing  about,  I  got 
up,  and  from  three  to  five  o'clock  I  sat  on 
my  window-sill  smoking,  and  looking  out  on 
the  dead  town.  It  was  as  light  as  day 
and  not  a  soul  to  be  seen  anywhere.  Like 
ours,  the  house  opposite  has  many  windows, 
both  up-  and  down- stairs.  Not  a  single 
sign  of  life  was  to  be  seen  in  any  of 
them. 

I  had  nothing  on  but  my  pants  and 
shirt,  and  I  sat  there  or  paced  the  room, 
barefoot,  wondering  whether  I  had  gone 
mad. 

By  day  my  study  is  an  ordinary 
room,  and  I  an  ordinary  man,  but  I 
wonder  what  people  would  think  if  they 
saw  us  at  night  ?  I  am  barefoot  at  this 
moment,  and  have  nothing  on  but  my 
pants. 

What  makes  me  write  all  this  ? 


121 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

6th  July. 

I  am  a  completely  changed  man.  I've 
no  pity  or  affection  for  anyone,  not  even 
for  my  children.  Pure  hatred  only  inspires 
me.  When  I  walk  through  the  town  and 
look  at  the  houses  and  people,  I  think, 
and  even  smile  at  the  thought,  "  I  wdsh 
the  earth  would  open  and  swallow  you 
all  up  !  "  A  beggar  stretched  his  hand 
out  to  me  to-day,  and  I  gave  him  such 
a  look  that  his  tongue  stuck,  and  his  hand 
dropped  to  his  side.  What  a  look  it  must 
have  been ! 

I  can't  cry ;  I  can't  remember  how 
it's  done.  Not  only  my  tears  have  dried 
up,  altogether  I  seem  to  have  become 
dry ;  on  the  hottest  day  I  never  perspire. 
A  curious  thing ;  I  must  ask  a  doctor 
about  it. 

Sashenka  took  notice  of  me  to-day. 
122 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

She  cried  to  see  me  like  this.  But  like 
what  ?  She  wondered  that  I  did  not 
read  the  newspapers,  but  what  can  one 
learn  from  the  papers  ?  That  we  have 
Miasoyedovs,  that  wholesale  slaughter  is 
going  on,  we  know  without  their  aid.  I 
don't  want  to  read  them. 

"  How   is   your    digestion  ?  "    Sashenka 
asked. 

"  My  digestion  ?    Why  ?    Have  I  got  a 
digestion  ?     Oh,  yes  !  It's  quite  well,  thank 
you.     How  are  your  wounded  ?  " 
"  They  are  your  wounded,  too." 
"  Oh,  no,  I  didn't  make  them." 
"  Why  are  you  so  hard-hearted,  Ilenka  ?  " 
she  asked  through  her  tears. 

"  How  ?    my  kind-hearted  Sashenka  ?  " 

She  was  annoyed  at  that  and  went  back 

to  the  hospital,  not  forgetting  to  slam  the 

door  behind  her,  like  a  truly  affectionate 

\vife.     I  don't  care,  only  it's  not  good  for 

123 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

the  children  ;   and  one  must  think  of  them 
sometimes. 

I  can  hardly  believe  I  have  a  wife ;  we 
so  rarely  see  each  other.  She  is  always  at 
the  hospital.  A  great  many  wounded 
arrived  on  Saturday,  so  many  that  there 
were  not  enough  beds  for  them  all,  and 
some  had  to  be  put  on  the  floor.  Sasha 
did  not  come  home  that  day  for  the 
children's  bath.  This  is  not  the  first 
occasion  on  which  it  has  happened.  Nurse 
usually  bathes  them  under  these  circum- 
stances, but  that  day  it  came  into  my 
head  to  do  Jena  myself.  The  boy  has 
grown  awfully  thin.  I  could  count  all 
his  ribs  ;  he  has  such  small  bones.  When 
I  rubbed  down  his  poor  little  body  and 
thin  hair,  I  wondered  why  I  couldn't  cry. 
Even  when  I  scratched  the  poor  child 
in  my  clumsiness,  and  he  burst  into  tears, 
I  still  felt  no  pity.  His  crying  only 
124 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

annoyed  me,  and  I  handed  him  over  to 
the  nurse.  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ? 
There  was  a  time,  old  men  tell  us,  when 
people  in  my  condition  were  healed  by 
prayer  in  church,  but  who  would  pray 
for  me  ?  What  nonsense  I  am  talking, 
to  be  sure  ! 

There  is  no  pity  in  my  heart  for  Russia 
even ;  her  groans  affect  me  not.  I  have 
no  pity  for  myself,  and  I  think  if  Sasha 
were  to  die  this  moment,  I  wouldn't  turn 
a  hair.  There  is  a  rumour  of  cholera  in 
town,  but  what  do  I  care  ?  Let  there 
be  cholera  or  an  epidemic  of  small  pox  or 
the  plague,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me. 


9^^  July. 

There    was    quite    a    sensation    in    our 
office  to-day.    Zvoliansky,  the  Pole,  has 
joined  the  army  as  a  volunteer.    He  wants 
125 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

to  defend  Warsaw  with  his  own  hand, 
so  to  speak.  At  first  we  thought  he  was 
only  bragging,  but  it  turned  out  to  be 
true.  Who  would  have  expected  it  of 
him  ?  He  used  to  brag  so  much  that  no 
one  would  have  given  him  the  credit  of 
it.  The  other  fellows  arranged  all  sorts 
of  treats  for  him,  of  course,  but  I  did  not 
take  part  in  them,  saying  that  I  was  not 
well.  Let  them  parade  their  patriotism 
without  my  aid.  I  am  not  afraid  of  their 
sneers  and  suspicions  ! 

In  the  private  talks  I've  had  with 
Zvoliansky,  I've  always  heard  him  say,  in 
high  flown  terms,  that  if  he  did  not  take 
part  in  the  war  now  his  conscience  would 
never  give  him  any  peace  afterwards.  Con- 
science indeed  !  One  can  understand  his 
anxiety  about  Poland,  but  the  least  said 
about  conscience,  the  better. 

Conscience,  conscience ;  you  can't  get 
126 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

away  from  it,  no  matter  how  hard  you 
try.  Conscientious  people  are  to  be  seen 
everywhere.  They  quite  alarm  a  fool  like 
me.  To  plunder,  to  betray,  to  starve 
children,  is  all  done  in  the  name  of  con- 
science. No  one  can  raise  any  objections. 
It's  war  time,  you  see,  and  can't  be  helped  ! 
So  the  war  and  the  tears  only  serve  to 
make  unscrupulous  tradesmen  and  manu- 
facturers grow  fat  and  to  build  them  big 
houses  and  motor-cars  that  the  public 
admire.  They  deserve  to  be  hanged,  every 
man  of  them,  but  it  can't  be  done  because 
of  conscience. 

I  happened  to  notice  that  our  poor 
old  mother  always  conceals  her  feet  under 
her  skirt  when  she  sits  down,  and  I  couldn't 
understand  the  reason  of  it,  until  I  dis- 
covered that  the  old  lady's  shoes  were 
so  worn  that  her  toes  came  through. 
Poor  soul !  When  I  said  to  her,  "  Mother, 
127 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

aren't  you  ashamed  ?  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  or  Sashenka  ? "  she  burst  into 
tears.  I  couldn't  get  a  word  out  of  her 
in  explanation.  Some  absurd  idea  of 
economy  of  hers,  no  doubt,  that  I  had 
upset.  It  seems  so  ridiculous  to  economise 
and  be  careful  of  every  farthing  when, 
sooner  or  later,  a  farthing  saved  is  sure 
to  find  its  way  into  some  contractor's 
pocket.  It  is  worked  like  a  conjuring  trick. 
I  bought  mother  a  pair  of  prunella  shoes 
and  presented  them  to  her  solemnly  with 
the  due  feelings  of  a  benefactor.  She 
burst  into  tears  again,  of  com'se,  and  as  I 
watched  them  roll  down  her  cheeks,  I 
thought,  "  If  only  she'd  give  me  one  of 
them  ! 

16/^  July. 

Andrei  Vasilevitch,  the  man  who  was 
to  have  read  my  diary,  was  badly  wounded, 
128 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

and  died  in  a  hospital  in  Warsaw.  All 
peace  to  his  soul !  No  one  will  read  my 
diary  now.  It  is  as  well,  perhaps.  I  seem 
to  be  alone  in  hell,  surrounded  by  dancing 
demons  and  beckoning  sinners.  What  good 
am  I  or  my  diary  to  anyone  ?  It  seems 
absurd,  but  my  wife  has  known  for  a 
long  time  that  I  keep  a  diary,  and  has 
never  expressed  the  smallest  desire  or 
curiosity  to  see  it.  Writing  a  diary  or 
cracking  sun-flower  seeds  is  all  the  same 
to  her ! 

Even  a  mouse  gets  more  attention ;  one 
hurls  a  boot  at  it  when  it  makes  a  noise. 

But  what  right  has  a  little  worm  like 
me  to  attention  and  sympathy  when  so 
many  more  worthy  than  I  go  under  daily  ? 
It  would  be  a  fine  thing,  indeed,  if  every 
little  "  cell "  doomed  to  perdition  were 
to  begin  to  howl  and  object  like  a  full- 
grown  organism ! 

I  129 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

I  saw  some  refugees  from  Poland  in 
the  Morskaya  to-day.  Pretty  figures  they 
make  ! 

11th  July. 

I  can't  exist  Hke  this  !  I  wasn't  made 
for  wicked,  vicious  thoughts,  and  can 
find  no  others  in  my  wretched  soul.  Sleep 
has  deserted  me.  I  am  consumed  in- 
wardly by  a  white  flame  like  a  tree  that 
is  drying  at  the  roots.  I  am  afraid  to 
look  at  my  contorted  face  in  the  glass. 
I  wander  about  until  I  am  ready  to  drop 
and  my  legs  are  as  heavy  as  lead,  then 
I  fling  myself  on  my  bed,  and  go  to  sleep 
instantly ;  but  at  three  in  the  morning 
I  start  up,  as  at  the  sound  of  a  drum, 
and  go  to  my  window-sill,  and  there  I 
sit  imtil  five  or  six,  staring  aimlessly  at  the 
Petrograd  night,  also  sleepless.  Horrible 
light !  horrible  night !  Whether  it's  pour- 
130 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

ing  with  rain  and  the  walls  of  the  houses 
are  soaking  wet,  or  the  sun  is  playing 
among  the  chimney  pots,  it  is  appalling 
alike  in  this  dead,  motionless  town.  It 
seems  as  if  the  prophecy  was  fulfilled 
and  mankind  was  destroyed,  and  over 
the  scene  of  destruction  shone  the  useless 
light  of  a  useless  day. 

The  house  opposite  is  flat  and  high. 
If  you  happened  to  fall  from  the  top 
there  would  be  nothing  to  clutch  hold 
of  to  stop  you.  I  can't  get  rid  of  a  tor- 
menting thought  that  I've  fallen  from 
the  roof,  down,  down,  to  the  pavement, 
past  windows  and  cornices.  The  sensa- 
tion is  so  real  as  to  make  me  sick.  To 
get  away  from  the  sight  of  that  wall  I 
pace  the  room,  but  there  is  little  comfort 
in  that.  I  step  cautiously  over  the  creaking 
floor,  bare-foot,  in  pants  only,  seeming 
more  and  more  like  a  lunatic  or  a  hunted 
131 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

murderer.  And  still  it  is  light !  And 
still  it  is  light ! 

I  can't  go  on  like  this  !  In  like  con- 
ditions, I  suppose,  men  write  the  words, 
''  Accuse  no  one  of  my  death ;  I  am 
tired  of  life." 

What  rubbish  I  allow  myself  to  talk  ! 
I  am  simply  not  well,  and  must  treat 
myself.  I  really  must  be  more  careful 
of  my  health. 

Lidotchka,  my  angel,  set  me  free.  Give 
me  tears  that  I  may  weep  for  you  !  I 
can't  go  on  as  I  am.  Pray  to  God  for  me  ; 
you  are  so  near  to  Him  ;  you  can  look  into 
His  eyes.  Ask  Him  to  have  mercy  on 
your  father,  Lidotchka,  my  darling,  my 
silent  angel ;  remember  how  I  carried  you 
from  the  bed  to  the  table,  and  held  you 
close,  oh,  so  close.  .  .  . 


132 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

^Ist  July. 

What  a  hard  time  we  are  going  through  ! 
God  spare  Russia !  From  end  to  end  of 
the  vast  land  people  are  praying  for 
Russia's  salvation. 

I  am  ashamed  to  confess  in  what  a  vain 
frame  of  mind  I  set  out  for  the  Kazan 
Cathedral,  where  a  public  service  was  to 
be  held.  I  don't  know  at  what  moment 
I  suddenly  began  to  see  and  understand. 
I  only  remember  that  at  first  I  smiled 
superciliously  and  cast  my  eye  about  for 
other  clever  fellows  like  myself,  with  whom 
to  exchange  knowing  glances.  I  was 
horribly  annoyed  at  the  pushing  and  shov- 
ing, and  stuck  out  my  elbows  ostenta- 
tiously for  the  benefit  of  my  neighbours. 
But  when  did  daylight  come  ? 

No  words  can  describe  the  impressive- 
ness  of  the  sight.  From  every  street 
133 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

and  alley  hundreds  of  thousands  of  people 
were  streaming  to  one  particular  spot  to 
offer  up  their  common  prayers  to  God. 
It  seemed  like  some  practical  joke  at 
first,  or  a  showy  parade ;  but  when  they 
came  and  came,  and  there  was  no  breath- 
ing space,  and  still  they  kept  on  coming, 
the  solemnity  of  it  made  cold  shivers 
run  down  my  back.  "  What  does  it 
mean  ?  "  you  asked  yourself  with  a 
shudder,  but  no  one  heard  you,  and  no 
one  replied,  and  still  the  people  kept 
on  coming  and  coming.  The  solemnity 
and  gravity  was  enhanced  by  the  very 
fact  that  no  one  paid  any  heed  to  you, 
and  you  paid  no  heed  to  them.  Your 
heart  began  to  beat  fast.  What  a  vital 
occasion  it  must  be  to  bring  so  many 
people  together  so  intent  for  the  purposes 
of  prayer  !  Is  it  for  my  small  mind  to 
question  and  criticise  ? 
134 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Men  were  not  ashamed  to  weep  ;  some 
even  forgot  to  dry  their  tears.  All  restraint 
was  abandoned.  "  How  naive  the  people 
are  !  "  I  thought  like  a  fool,  as  I  eyed 
a  robust-looking  peasant,  a  yard-porter, 
or  cabman,  no  doubt,  whose  tears  were 
streaming  down  his  cheeks.  Suddenly  I 
felt  a  moistness  in  my  own  eyes,  dry  for 
so  long,  and  I  wept  shame-facedly,  not 
yet  appreciating  the  value  of  my  tears, 
and  raising  my  eyes  artfully  to  heaven, 
lest  some  one  should  see.  "  God,  how 
far  away  Thou  art,  yet  how  near !  "  I 
thought. 

All  at  once  a  shudder  went  through  me, 
and  I  seemed  to  be  pierced  by  a  heavenly 
fire.  On  wings  invisible  I  seemed  to  soar 
on  high  to  the  white  clouds,  and  from  that 
height  I  looked  down  on  this  land  we  call 
Russia.  I  saw  that  it  was  she,  and  no 
other  land,  that  was  menaced  by  misery 
135 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

indescribable !  It  was  against  her  the 
enemy  was  marching  with  fire  and  bomb  ! 
And  it  was  for  Russia,  for  Russia's  salva- 
tion, we  were  praying !  Once  more  I 
looked  at  the  people ;  they  wept,  and  I 
wept  with  them.  They  did  not  spurn 
me,  those  near  me,  but  leant  trustingly 
against  my  breast.  Lunatic !  What  had 
I  been  thinking  of  before  ?  An  intense 
love  for  these  people  came  over  me.  I 
could  hardly  contain  myself.  I  could  have 
cried  aloud  for  love  of  them.  I  could  cry 
aloud  at  this  moment  when  I  recall  the 
sensation. 

It's  difficult  to  express  what  I  felt. 
Tliough  only  a  few  hours  have  gone  by 
since  the  great  moment,  I  cannot  see 
Russia  as  I  saw  her  then.  She  is  only  a 
map  to  me  now,  yet  then  I  had  seen 
and  known  so  clearly.  I  do  remember,  I 
suppose,  but  I  cannot  express  it  in  words. 
136 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Oh,  God,  save  Russia !  Spare  her,  fooHsh 
as  she  is  ! 

I  ought  to  leave  off  now,  but  the  tears 
will  come,  and  why  shouldn't  I  let  them  ? 
Yesterday  when  I  got  home  and  saw  mother 
wiping  Peter's  nose  with  her  trembUng 
hand,  I  remembered  Pavel,  and,  unable 
to  contain  myself,  I  sobbed  aloud  like  a 
child.  I  fell  on  my  knees  before  mother 
and  kissed  her  wrinkled,  aged  hand.  Nurse 
was  there,  and  she,  too,  could  not  keep 
back  her  tears.  How  guilty  I  feel  before  all 
decent  people !     I  had  good  reason  to  cry ! 

I  must  stop  now  or  I  shall  become  un- 
intelHgible.  My  thoughts  come  so  quickly. 
Let  them  come. 

The  same  night. 

Once  more  I  can't  sleep.    My  heart  is 
filled  with  anxiety.     I  am  shivering  with 
cold.    I  am  still  thinking  of  Russia. 
137 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Man  is  not  slow  to  utilise  his  experiences 
to  his  advantage.  There  is  something  very 
subtle  about  it.  I  had  no  sooner  learned 
to  love  Russia  than  I  hastened  home  to 
lavish  affection  on  my  own  children,  Peter 
and  Jena.  The  very  desire  to  love  them 
was  wonderful  after  my  coldness  and  hard- 
ness of  heart  that  had  made  me  forget 
their  existence. 

I  bought  them  some  fruit  from  a  stand  : 
a  thing  I  had  not  done  for  a  long  time. 
I  rather  fear  now  that  it  may  upset  their 
little  stomachs.  Jena  has  grown  so  thin 
that  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  look  at 
him.  His  eyes  are  pensive  like  Lidotchka's. 
He  used  to  be  such  a  happy  little 
fellow !  Has  the  trouble  affected  him 
too? 

A  horrible  fear  has  come  over  me  again. 
I  must  go  to  bed,   even  though  I  can't 
sleep ;    it  may  prevent  horrible  thoughts 
138 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

from  entering  my  head.  The  children  .  .  . 
Russia.  .  .  . 

I  haven't  seen  Sashenka  to-day.  She 
came  home  when  I  was  at  the  office,  and 
has  not  been  able  to  get  away  again,  I 
suppose,  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  see  her. 
I  wanted  to  go  to  the  hospital,  but  after 
my  long  absence  I  was  afraid  it  might 
look  funny. 

Sashenka,  Sashenka,  my  dear  ! 

This,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  Russia  ! 


mh  July. 

Depression  and  despair  once  again.  I 
awoke  for  a  brief  moment  and  got  a  glimpse 
of  reality,  and  again  I  have  lapsed  into 
sleep,  eternal  and  restless.  The  newspapers 
fill  one  with  horror.  A  dreadful  rumour 
is  abroad,  and  the  office  is  full  of  incredible 
tales.  They  say  Warsaw  has  fallen,  and 
139 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

a  great  many  other  things,  about  which 
it  would  be  best  to  keep  silent.    I  have  no 
faith  in  the  Duma,  but  I  should  hke  to 
see  it  convoked. 
I  am  afraid. 

1st  August. 

The  town  is  in  a  state  of  depression ; 
the  people  in  the  streets  look  grave.  Only 
some  hooligan  may  be  seen  to  laugh, 
or  a  contractor,  portly  and  unscrupulous, 
who  stalks  along  in  sublime  indifference. 
The  pig ! 

As  I  write  these  words  the  Germans 
may  be  entering  Warsaw.  When  I  close 
my  eyes  I  see  them  as  plainly  as  on  the 
film  of  a  kinematograph,  with  their  pointed 
helmets,  marching  victoriously  through  the 
ruined,  deserted  streets,  past  blazing 
houses.  I  remember  how  the  men  in  our 
office  used  to  joke  about  Wilhelm's  pre- 
140 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

sumptuousness,  the  stories  they  used  to 
tell  of  his  having  declared  he  would  dine 
in  Paris  and  sup  in  Warsaw,  and  the  like ; 
and  while  the  fools  were  enjoying  the 
joke,  the  Germans  have  come  !  they  are 
here !  What  can  we  do  ?  The  disgrace 
of  it! 

How  could  we  have  been  so  bhnd  as 
not  to  foresee  the  danger  ?  Again  I  shut 
my  eyes  and  see  their  pointed  helmets, 
the  flames,  the  panic-stricken  inhabitants 
crouching  behind  the  houses.  What  is 
the  use  of  their  hiding  ?  Supposing  it 
were  not  Petrograd  where  I  sat  writing 
in  the  dead  of  night,  but  in  Warsaw,  with 
the  Germans  marching  across  the  bridge, 
entering  the  town.  .  .  .  Horrible  thought ! 
A  loud  knock  comes  at  my  door,  and  a 
German  walks  in  and  looks  about  him, 
strutting  from  room  to  room  as  though 
the  place  belonged  to  him.  He  questions 
141 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

me  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand,  and  keeps  from 
shooting  me  down  only  out  of  a  feehng 
of  charitv.  How  would  I  look  into  his 
blue  Teutonic  eyes  ?  Would  I  smile  to 
him,  out  of  politeness  only,  of  course,  but 
would  I?  No! 
I  shall  n;^ sleep  to-night. 

8^^  August. 

The  Duma  has  met,  and  the  sittings  are 
in  progress.  I  pray  for  fortitude  when  I 
read  and  re-read  the  reports  of  the  terrible 
speeches.  I  devour  each  sentence  with 
my  eyes.  There  must  be  some  mistake. 
It  can't  be  that  there  are  no  shells  !  No 
shells !  Shells  were  promised,  but  our 
men  were  left  in  the  lurch !  Our  gallant 
soldiers  tried  to  stay  the  Germans  with 
their  naked  hands !  To  think  of  it ! 
What  is  the  country  coming  to  ? 

I  don't  understand.  There  must  be 
142 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

something  wrong.  What  about  the  people 
who  prayed  in  the  Kazan  Square  ?  How 
dared  they  call  upon  God  when  they 
betrayed  our  men  ?  But  was  it  the  people 
who  betrayed  ?  I  heard  their  prayers,  and 
I  prayed  with  them ;  I  saw  their  hot 
tears  and  their  anguish,  but  there  was  no 
sign  of  the  fear  and  shame  the  guilty 
must  feel  before  the  all-seeing  eyes  of 
God.  Was  it  then  different  people  who 
prayed,  and  different  people  who  betrayed  ? 
I  don't  know,  but  I  feel  sure  that  the 
country  is  not  guilty ;  I  could  swear  to 
that  by  the  life  of  my  children  !  Some- 
thing is  wrong  somewhere. 

I  can't  convey  the  impression  I  got 
when  I  first  read  the  speeches  of  the 
Duma  members.  A  big  German  shell 
seemed  to  have  burst  in  my  brain,  deafen- 
ing, blinding,  and* shaking  me  to  the  very 
roots  of  my  being.  It  seemed  to  deprive 
143 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

me  of  human  speech ;  I  could  only  jabber 
unintelligibly  and  look  horror-stricken. 
Every  one  seemed  to  be  affected  in  the  same 
way.  Even  the  fellows  in  the  office,  who 
always  talked  so  lightly  and  decided  all 
questions  so  easily,  were  almost  speechless 
with  consternation.  They  couldn't  work, 
and  sat  about  in  their  shirt  sleeves,  red  as 
boiled  lobsters,  devouring  the  papers,  and 
making  the  office-boy  run  for  every  new 
edition.  When  they  had  had  their  fill, 
they  set  up  an  uproar,  banging  their  fists 
on  the  table  and  shouting  : 

"  I  told  you  so  !  " 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  " 

"  No  one  would  listen  to  me  !  " 

"  It  was  you  who  would  not  listen,  I 
maintained.    .    .    ." 

One  and  all  had  maintained  and 
prophesied,  and  the  mischief  had  come 
through  no  one  listening  to  them.  And 
144 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

who  had  taken  Tsar-Grad,  and  walked 
through  the  streets  of  Berhn,  and  even 
bought  a  tie  in  some  shop  on  the  Freidrich 
Strasse  ?     They  had  all  forgotten  that. 

The  thing  that  surprises  me  most  about 
them  is  the  way  they'll  say  the  most  horrible 
things  to  each  other — things  one  would 
think  that  would  keep  any  man  awake 
for  a  week — and  then  be  as  chummy  as 
possible  together.  It  seemed  as  if  they 
were  anxious  to  show  off  the  good  spirit 
in  the  office.  After  the  most  abusive 
argument  one  will  begin  on  "  Satirikon," 
another  will  collect  subscriptions  for  some 
choice  refreshment,  to  be  consumed  in 
the  back  room,  far  removed  from  the  eyes 
of  the  chief.  It's  a  good  thing  they  can't 
get  vodka. 

Sashenka  is  another  person  who  sur- 
prises me.  Filled  as  I  was  with  a  burning 
desire  to  communicate  my  strange,  new 
K  145 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

impressions  about  these  painful  events,  I 
naturally  thought  of  her  as  some  one 
who  would  like  to  share  my  thoughts, 
and  even  pictured  the  solemn,  profound 
conversation  we  would  have ;  or  perhaps 
no  conversation  at  all ;  we  might  com- 
mune in  silence,  I  thought,  a  silence  that 
would  convey  more  than  words,  all  that 
was  in  our  hearts.  .  .  .  But  it  turned 
out  differently.  When  I  opened  my  eyes 
wide  in  astonishment  and  asked,  "  You've 
read  about  it,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  looked 
alarmed  at  my  expression,  and  said, 
"  What  ?  " 

"  How  what  ?  I'm  referring  to  the 
speeches  in  the  Duma." 

"  What  speeches  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  j^es,  I  just 
glanced  at  them.  I'm  too  busy  to  read. 
The  Lord  knows  what  they  are  after." 

Failing  to  notice  her  indifference,  I 
began  to  expound  the  situation  with 
146 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

warmth,  explaining  everything  with  great 
detail ;  but  suddenly  I  realised  by  the 
expression  of  pensiveness  on  her  face,  by 
her  downcast  eyes,  and  the  strange  com- 
pression of  her  lips,  that  she  was  not 
listening  to  me,  but  was  engrossed  in  some 
thoughts  of  her  own.  I  was  hurt  and 
angry.  I  didn't  mind  on  my  own  account 
so  much,  as  that  she  should  ignore  a  thing 
so  vital  for  all  Russia. 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  your  patriotic 
spirit,  Sashenka,"  I  said  coldly,  and 
impressibly. 

She  blushed,  and  a  pang  went  through 
my  heart  as  I  saw  the  colour  spread  over 
her  pale,  worn  features. 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Ilenka  dear, 
for  having  wandered  off  and  missed  part 
of  what  you  said.  It's  not  so  very  im- 
portant, is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  important !  "  I  exclaimed  angrily. 
147 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

"  You  can  hardly  be  aware  of  what  you 
are  saying,  Sasha !  Surely  only  a  traitor 
who  rejoiced  in  Russia's  downfall  could 
say  a  thing  like  that !  Don't  you  under- 
stand ?  We  have  no  shells  !  Aren't  you 
sorry  for  our  poor,  patient,  unarmed  soldiers 
whom  the  well-armed  Germans  can  defeat 
with  a  smile  on  their  faces  ?  " 

She  was  impressed  by  that.  Her  eyes 
opened  wide,  and  she  said  with  alarm  in 
her  voice,  "It  is  dreadful,  but  what  can 
we  do  ?  " 

"  That's  what  everyone  is  trying  to 
decide,  and  you  say  it  is  not  important. 
It's  horribly  important,  Sashenka !  It's 
so  important  that  it  makes  you  go  mad 
to  think  of  it !  " 

At  that  point  some  one  came  from  the 

hospital  to  fetch  her  to  attend  to  some  man 

who  had  both  arms  amputated,  and  refused 

to    eat    unless    Sashenka    fed    him.    She 

148 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

instantly  forgot  everything,  and  with  a 
guilty  look,  she  gave  me  a  hasty  kiss  on 
the  ear,  and  whispered,  "  Don't  be  angry 
with  me,  dear ;  I  can't.  .  .  ."  And  she 
was  gone. 
What  couldn't  she  ?   .   .   . 


11^^  September. 

An  unexpected  thing  has  happened. 
Nikolai,  my  brother-in-law,  who  appears 
to  be  in  Moscow,  sent  me  a  polite  letter, 
offering  me  money.  It  has  taken  him  a 
whole  year  to  remember  his  mother,  and 
now  he  proposes  to  take  a  share  in 
supplying  her  wants.  He  never  mentioned 
Sashenka  or  Pavel,  or  little  Lidotchka. 

His  letter  sent  me  into  a  fury,  and  I 
wrote  a  reply  that  he  won't  be  in  a  hurry 
to  forget.  I  didn't  want  to  bother  Sash- 
enka, so  I  never  said  anything  to  her 
149 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

about  it.  The  blackguard !  I  knew  he 
had  been  contracting  lately,  and  made 
about  a  million.  I  heard  about  it  from 
the  fellows  in  my  office.  A  million  !  We 
know  the  things  necessary  to  make  such 
a  sum !  And  this  unscrupulous  traitor, 
in  the  largeness  of  his  heart,  offers  me 
one  of  his  thirty  pieces  of  silver !  No, 
Nikolai,  I  would  sooner  starve  than  touch 
a  penny  of  your  money !  Your  filthy 
lucre  is  tainted  with  blood ;  you  could 
never  wash  your  hands  clean  again  when 
you  had  touched  it !  It  doesn't  become 
your  mother  to  live  on  yom*  contaminated 
money !  She  has  lost  a  dearly-beloved, 
honest  son  at  the  front ! 

God!  Why  dost  Thou  let  the  weight 
of  Thy  anger  fall  on  the  weak  ?  Wreak 
Thy  vengeance  on  men  like  these,  the 
rich  and  the  strong,  the  traitors,  the  liars 
and  the  swindlers  !  How  long  will  they 
150 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

be  permitted  to  mock  at  us  and  show  their 
golden  teeth,  riding  over  us  in  their  motor- 
cars with  derisive  laughter  ?  They  are  so 
shameless  in  their  security  that  it  drives 
one  mad  with  despair  to  think  of  one's 
own  impotence.  When  you  remonstrate 
with  them,  they  smile  ;  when  you  try  to 
make  them  see  the  disgrace,  it  amuses 
them ;  when  you  entreat  and  implore, 
they  laugh  in  your  very  face.  After 
robbing  and  betraying  the  country,  they 
sleep  soundly  in  their  beds  as  on  the 
softest  pillows  of  eider-down. 

It  makes  one's  blood  boil  to  think  that 
no  punishment  awaits  them.  It  is  not 
right  that  blackguards  should  be  triumph- 
ant in  this  world !  It  takes  away  respect 
for  honesty,  it  kills  justice,  it  makes  life 
meaningless.  It  is  blackguards  like  these 
against  whom  we  ought  to  declare  war, 
and  not  break  each  other's  heads  because 
151 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

one  man  happens  to  be  a  German  and 
another  a  Frenchman.  Mild  as  I  am  by 
nature,  I  would  be  the  first  to  take  up 
arms  in  such  a  war,  and  would  delight  in 
sending  a  bullet  into  one  of  their  brazen 
foreheads  ! 

What's  the  good  of  patience  ?  Nikolai's 
letter  has  stirred  my  blood.  And  why 
did  my  Lidotchka  die,  my  poor  innocent 
child,  eternally  and  beloved,  divine  flower 
from  Thy  garden,  oh  Lord  ?  Was  she 
an  ill-gotten  million  to  be  snatched 
from  my  beggarly  ?  It's  horrible,  horrible  ! 
Many  are  the  people  who  are  cursing  in 
torment  as  I  am  !  Perish,  miserable  worm, 
that's  all  you're  good  for !  Perish,  and 
then  you  can  rest !  Have  not  enough 
of  you  Dementevs  perished  cursing,  to  be 
sure,  and  crying  aloud  in  the  hope  that 
justice  might  be  done,  and  the  golden 
crown  set  upon  their  brows  ?  But  who 
152 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

bothers    about    them    now  ?    They    have 
perished,  and  there's  an  end  of  them. 


12tk  August. 

I  follow  the  speeches  in  the  Duma  care- 
fully, and  each  day  I  seem  to  ascend  higher 
up  a  mountain  that  opens  out  new  visions 
before  me.  And  what  horrible  visions 
they  are !  The  Germans  are  still  in  posses- 
sion of  Warsaw  and  advancing  steadily. 
When  is  this  alarming  advance  to  stop  ? 
Our  miHtary  experts  declare  that  they 
cannot  come  beyond  the  forts  of  Vilna 
and  Grodno,  before  whose  impregnable 
walls  they  will  crumple  up.  Ought  not 
this  to  reassure  us  ?  But  I  am  not  re- 
assured ;  I  seem  to  feel  their  physical 
nearness  and  never  turn  a  street  corner 
without  an  absurd  fear  of  seeing  a  German 
come  rushing  out.  How  clearly  I  see  his 
153 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

German  face,  and  spiked  helmet !  I  can 
almost  hear  his  insolent  Teutonic  speech. 
God  forbid  that  it  should  come  to  pass  ! 

Talking  of  visions,  they  make  one's 
hair  stand  on  end.  Why  am  I  small  and 
insignificant  ?  I  am  honest  enough,  how 
is  it  I  didn't  see  and  understand  ?  Why 
did  I  trust  as  idiotically  as  a  bewitched 
ass — if  one  can  use  the  expression — when 
the  country  was  in  danger  ?  The  country 
in  danger — what  appalling  words !  What 
use  am  I  to  the  country  ?  Any  horse  is 
far  more  useful  than  I,  for  all  my 
wretched  honesty.  Wretched  is  the  very 
word  for  it. 

God  save  Russia  !  The  words  are  heard 
on  all  hands,  even  among  the  sceptical 
fellows  in  the  office.  Supposing  God  re- 
fuses to  save  her  ?  Supposing  God  were 
to  say,  "  Perish  with  your  Miasoyedovs, 
since  you  are  so  stupid  and  corrupt !  " 
154 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Should  we  have  to  go  under  ?  I  shudder 
at  the  thought !  I  can't  admit  it ;  I 
will  fight  against  it  with  every  ounce 
of  strength  I  possess !  And  my  heart 
is  cold  and  apprehensive  and  desperate. 
What  can  I  do  ?  The  country  needs 
Samsons  and  heroes,  and  what  kind  of  a 
hero  am  I  ?  A  sinner  stripped  I  stand  at 
the  last  judgment,  quaking  and  unable 
to  say  a  word  in  my  own  defence,  for 
earthly  subterfuges  are  over. 

This  is  the  case  of  Ilya  Petrovitch 
Dement ev,  a  clerk,  who  lived  through  the 
great  war. 


155 


PART  III 

18th  August. 

In  my  excitement  of  the  last  few  days 
I  have  accused  myself  of  many  unjust 
things.  Excitement  is  a  poor  guide  when 
a  man  wants  to  take  a  sober  view  of 
things.  I  must  have  been  too  upset  by 
these  unexpected  revelations  that  flowed 
from  the  mouths  of  our  Duma  Ciceros 
as  freely  as  abundance  from  the  horn  of 
plenty.  If  I  had  been  blind,  what  were 
our  Ciceros  doing  ?  Their  eyes,  at  any 
rate,  ought  to  have  been  more  penetrating. 
I  don't  deny  that  I  am  powerless,  but 
unfortunately  it  is  not  my  fault  that  I 
am  so.  I  am  what  I  am.  Had  I  been 
born  a  Samson  or  a  Joffre,  I  should  have 

167 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

been  a  Samson  or  a  Joffre.  No  man  is 
fool  enough,  knowing  me  to  be  no  mathe- 
matician, to  set  me  a  problem  of  integral 
calculus  to  solve ;  in  the  same  way,  how 
can  I  be  expected  to  solve  the  problem 
of  the  Great  War  and  Russian  corruption  ? 
I  didn't  begin  the  war  !  I'm  not  respon- 
sible for  the  filthy  mess  we  have  got  into, 
and  I  don't  see  why  it  should  be  put  upon 
my  shoulders  !  It's  both  absurd  and  un- 
just. To  tell  a  man  to  clear  away  a 
mountain,  and  not  give  him  so  much  as 
a  spade  to  do  it  with !  I  should  like 
to  see  those  gentlemen  tackling  the  job  ! 
The  office  has  settled  down  quietly 
again,  thank  God,  and  I'm  glad  to  say 
the  childi'en  are  well.  Mother  had  a 
slight  stomach  trouble,  but  is  better  now. 
The  old  lady  is  very  tough,  and  may 
outlast  the  lot  of  us,  I  shouldn't  wonder. 
But  she  has  absolutely  no  memory. 
158 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

I've  thought  of  having  the  walls  in  the 
nursery  and  the  study  repapered  at  my 
own  expense.  The  paper  in  my  study 
reminds  me  of  those  terrible  white  July 
nights,  when,  like  a  madman,  I  used  to 
sit,  almost  naked,  on  my  window-sill,  or 
paced  the  floor,  barefoot.  I  used  to  count 
each  flower  in  the  pattern,  and  knew  each 
curve  and  spot  by  heart. 

I  was  uncertain  at  first,  whether  this 
was  the  right  time  for  doing  it,  but  on 
reflection,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
this  was  the  very  best  time  indeed.  Why 
should  one  let  circumstances  get  the  better 
of  one,  and  because  there's  a  war,  live  Hke 
a  pig  ?  The  war  may  go  on  if  it  Hkes, 
but  my  house  and  my  children  are  my 
own. 

Jena  made  me  laugh  last  night  when  I 
watched  him  getting  to  bed.  The  little 
rascal  has  grown  quite  fat  and  rosy  of  late. 
159 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

He's  a  dear  boy  !  When  he  had  finished 
a  prayer  I  had  taught  him,  in  which  he 
prayed  for  his  father  and  mother  and  the 
soldiers  at  the  front,  and  ended  up  with 
the  words,  "  Merciful  God,  let  me  wake 
to-morrow,  sinner  that  I  am,"  he  promptly 
stood  on  his  head,  exposing  his  naked  little 
body,  and  turned  a  somersault  with  huge 
delight.  I  wish  all  sinners  could  be  like 
him. 

Sashenka  approved  of  my  letter  to 
her  brother.  She  thought  it  showed  fine 
feeling.  He  hasn't  replied,  but  I  hardly 
expected  him  to. 

20th  August, 

I  am  putting  the  house  to  rights.  It 
has  been  woefully  neglected.  The  heavy 
curtains  and  the  couch  and  chairs  in  my 
study  are  full  of  moth.  Just  to  make  a 
change,  I  have  shifted  the  furniture  and 
160 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

converted  the  dining-room  into  my  study. 
I  am  not  sure  that  it  looks  better,  but 
it  is  certainly  an  improvement  to  get  a 
different  view  from  my  window.  I  come 
to  hate  my  former  view  of  the  smug  house 
opposite  with  its  many  windows.  They 
used  to  depress  me  and  make  me  feel 
sick  at  heart.  Many  was  the  time  I  could 
see  myself  falling  past  them  and  past  the 
flat,  disgusting  walls.  How  strangely  man 
is  constituted !  I  couldn't  help  reflecting 
on  this  as  I  helped  the  porter  move 
the  furniture.  Birds  migrate  to  the  south 
when  they  feel  the  winter  coming  on, 
while  man  begins  to  find  a  new  attraction 
for  his  little  box  of  a  home,  and  sets  about 
making  it  as  comfortable  as  he  can  for 
the  stormy  weather.  The  moving  would 
have  amused  and  distracted  me,  had  not 
the  face  of  my  darling  Lidotchka,  that 
is  ever   before  my  eyes,  made  me   recall 

L  161 

0 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

former  years  when  she  used  to  help,  in 
her  own  little  way,  and  sent  a  pain  through 
my  heart.  Lidotchka  is  gone,  never  to 
return. 

Many  other  things  are  gone,  too,  never 
to  return.  Desolation  has  penetrated  even 
to  the  heart  of  our  little  home.  I  was 
obliged  to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  re- 
papering.  The  cost  of  living  has  risen 
to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  a  poor  man 
look  with  apprehension  at  the  future. 
Bread  and  fuel.  .  .  .  But  why  should  I 
fill  my  diary  with  the  prosaic  details  of 
every-day  life  ?  Dear,  dear,  the  war  is 
proving  a  monster,  indeed  ! 

The  Germans  continue  to  advance  from 
Warsaw  and  are  getting  nearer  and  nearer 
to  us.  No  one  speaks  about  it,  and  all 
wait  anxiously  for  new  developments.  We 
look  askance  at  each  other  for  any  chance 
of  some  fresh  news,  but  what  fresh  news 
162 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

can  there  be  ?  Even  the  Germans,  it 
seems,  know  nothing,  and  no  one  in  the 
whole  world  knows  or  understands.  .  .  . 
The  world  is  turned  upside  down. 


21st  August. 

Kovno  has  fallen.  Our  military  experts 
declared  this  fortress  impregnable,  and 
it  was  cracked  like  a  nut  and  consumed 
instantaneously. 


25th  August. 


Osovetz  has  fallen. 


2Sth  August. 

The  fortress  of  Brest  has  been  taken. 

It's  a  lucky  thing  for  me  that  I  have 

this  diary,  where  I  can  speak  of  my  fears 

without  any  sense  of  shame.    One  has  to 

put  on  a  brave  countenance  before  others, 

163 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

and  hide  one's  horrible  fear.  It  would 
be  a  dreadful  thing  indeed  if  the  whole 
population  of  Petrograd  were  to  begin 
to  tremble  and  to  scream  with  terror, 
as  I  feel  inclined  to  do  at  any  moment ! 
And  the  terror  is  real,  not  silly  talk  cal- 
culated to  alarm  others,  that  gives  the 
person  creating  the  alarm  a  secret  sense 
of  pleasure.  It  makes  you  feel  that  you 
want  to  run  away  and  hide,  and  you  don't 
know  where  to  go,  nor  how  you'll  get  the 
money.  You  seem  like  a  tree  standing 
at  the  edge  of  a  wood  exposed  to  a  hurri- 
cane that  is  drawing  near ;  you  fold  the 
leaves  closer  about  you,  while  inwardly 
you  quake  to  the  very  roots. 

I  am  living  in  the  one  hope  that  our 
office  may  be  moved.  There  is  a  lot  of 
whispering  going  on  about  it,  and  gathering 
together  of  books.  I  only  wish  it  were 
true ! 

164 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

I  no  longer  try  to  understand  what  it 
is  that  I  fear  so  much,  both  for  myself 
and  the  children.  The  word  "  war  "  no 
longer  conveys  any  meaning  to  me.  It  is 
a  dead  word  we  have  grown  accustomed 
to  using.  Something  living  is  drawing 
close  to  us  now  with  a  wild  roar,  some- 
thing living  and  immense,  and  it  shakes 
the  earth  as  it  comes.  "  They  are 
coming !  "  There  are  no  words  terrible 
enough  to  equal  these.  '*  They  are  coming  ! 
They  are  coming  !  " 

The  white  nights  after  Lidotchka's  death 
with  all  their  torments,  would  have  been 
preferable  to  this.  Yoli  felt  safer  in  the 
light.  What  can  one  do  during  the  dark 
Autumn  nights,  terrible  enough  without 
any  Germans  ?  Last  night  I  couldn't  sleep 
for  fear.  Horrible  pictures  floated  through 
my  brain.  I  saw  the  advancing  Germans, 
I  heard  their  unfamiliar  speech,  I  saw 
165 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

their  strange  Teutonic  faces  and  guns 
and  knivesj  ready  for  their  murderous 
work.  As  in  a  di-eam  I  saw  them  bustling 
about  a  baggage-train  ;  they  were  shouting 
at  the  horses  in  their  own  tongue;  they 
were  rumbhng  in  crowds  over  bridges  ; 
I  could  hear  their  voices,  so  vivid  did  my 
vision  of  them  appear. 

There  were  millions  of  them — pre- 
occupied, busy  men  mth  knives  for  our 
throats — and  their  ruthless  faces  were 
turned  to  us,  to  Petrograd,  to  Post  Office 
Street,  to  me.  They  marched  through 
country  roads  and  villages  ;  they  scrambled 
into  motor-cars  ;  railway  trains  swarmed 
with  them ;  they  were  in  aeroplanes  drop- 
ping bombs  from  above ;  they  leapt  from 
hill  to  hill ;  they  hid  for  a  while,  then 
rushed  out  again,  coming  another  mile 
nearer  to  us  ;  they  showed  their  teeth ; 
they  dragged  their  knives  and  guns  ;  they 
166 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

set  fire  to  houses  ;  and  nearer  and  nearer 
they  came.  My  hair  stood  on  end.  I 
felt  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  lonely  wood 
surrounded  by  cut-throat  robbers  creeping 
up  to  the  house  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night. 

I  was  reduced  to  such  a  condition  in 
the  end  that  I  lay  craning  for  every  sound, 
and  the  merest  rustle  made  me  think 
that  some  one  had  come  ready  to  pounce 
upon  me.  It  was  unbearable  !  I  am  truly 
a  coward,  I  can  see  that  now,  but  I  can't 
help  it.     What  can  I  do  ?     It's  horrible  ! 

And  not  so  long  ago  I  was  idiotic  enough 
to  think  of  repapering  my  rooms  ! 

9>9th  August 

I  have  come  to  myself,  somewhat,  and 
take  a  more  reasonable  view  of  our  position. 
The  newspapers   say,   and  the  fellows   in 
167 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

the  office,  too,  that  the  Germans  will  never 
get  to  Petrograd.  I  wonder  if  they  are 
right  ?  The  streets  are  horribly  dull,  and 
if  you  happen  to  forget  the  Germans  for 
a  little,  they  seem  the  same  dull  streets 
as  of  old.  There  are  the  trams  and  the 
cabs  and  the  shops,  which  are  open  as 
usual.  There  is  more  dust  and  dirt  abroad, 
and  a  strong  gust  of  wind  nearly  blinds 
you  and  chokes  you  with  dried  horse 
manure.  Houses  and  palaces  seem  de- 
serted and  dirty  too,  and  like  clouds  of 
dust  and  smoke,  a  thick  fog  hangs  over 
the  Neva,  obscuring  the  other  side  of 
the  river. 

I  read  the  reports  of  the  speeches  in 
the  Duma  with  great  agitation,  but  a 
feeling  of  caution  prompts  me  not  to 
commit  my  impressions  to  paper.  I  still 
wonder  at  the  utter  blindness  that  made 
me  trust  so  idiotically,  seeing  only  the 
168 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

outward  form  of  things.  Where  was  my 
patriotism  ?  Any  self-respecting  State 
would  have  cast  me  out,  but  here  I'm 
no  worse  than  others,  a  respectable  member 
of  society,  as  things  go,  a  family  hen  who 
struts  about  paying  visits  to  other  hens, 
and  sets  up  a  violent  cackling  over  a  broken 
egg.  No  more  than  a  hen !  Splendid 
idea !  I  see,  now,  the  meaning  of  the 
phrase  "  chicken-hearted."  My  Jena  is 
no  more  than  a  chicken.  Many  hens  like 
me  are  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  with  their 
chickens.  .  .  .  Stop  ! 

The  clerk  Ilya  Petrovitch  Dementev  is 
but  a  chicken-hearted  fellow. 


Srd  September. 

The  greatest  misfortune  has  happened 
to   me.     It  has   taken   me  four   days   to 
pluck    up   sufficient   courage   to   write   it. 
169 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

I  ought  to  have  foreseen  that  it  would 
happen.  I  ought  to  have  known  by  the 
way  business  was  decreasing,  and  the 
general  difficulties  attending  it,  that  it  was 
bound  to  come,  but  my  wanton  blind- 
ness made  me  trust,  and  kept  me  from 
worrying.  Our  bank  has  gone  smash, 
and  the  office  is  closed.  Our  chief  died 
suddenly.  They  say  he  killed  himself, 
and  that  the  family  are  keeping  it  dark. 
All  the  employees  were  paid  off.  Those 
who,  like  myself,  had  been  with  the  firm 
for  a  long  time,  were  generously  treated 
and  received  a  full  month's  salary.  It 
was  certainly  generous,  considering  the 
complete  failure  of  the  house. 

What  shall  I  do  now  to  support  myself 
and  the  children  ?  The  question  is  more 
alarming  than  the  coming  of  the  Germans. 
The  Germans  may  or  may  not  come,  we 
do  not  know,  but  here  am  I  faced  by  this 
170 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

fact.     In  a  very  little  time  the  children 
and  I  \vill  be  starving. 

I  haven't  told  Sashenka  yet ;  I  dare  not ; 
I  can't  find  the  words  with  which  to  do 
it  decently.  At  home  no  one  knows.  I 
leave  the  house  at  the  usual  time  in  the 
morning  and  wander  about  the  streets, 
dodging  acquaintances  or  sitting  in  the 
Taurida  Garden.  At  five  I  return  home 
as  though  from  the  office.  I  must  think 
of  some  plan ;  I  must  make  up  my  mind 
what  to  do. 

4!th  September. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  find  my- 
self out  of  work,  not  counting,  of  course, 
the  few  occasions  when  in  my  youth,  I 
happened  to  find  myself  without  a  post 
for  two  or  three  weeks,  but  one  took  it 
so  lightly  then,  as  one  does  everything 
else  in  youth.  I  even  forget  what  the 
171 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

experience  was  like.  Now  I  am  forty-six, 
and  have  a  family.  .  .  . 

What  good  am  I  to  any  one  now  ? 
What  right  have  I  to  live  ?  I  have  no 
justification  other  than  my  willingness  to 
work.  So  long  as  I  had  work  and  supported 
my  helpless  little  ones,  I  was  a  man  with 
a  claim  to  respect  and  consideration,  but 
now  .  .  .  I'm  no  better  than  the  lowest 
ne'er-do-well ;  I'm  the  most  insignificant 
person  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  I  cannot 
even  supply  the  needs  of  my  own  miser- 
able existence,  let  alone  the  needs  of 
those  depending  on  me.  A  sparrow  peck- 
ing manure  on  the  road  has  a  greater 
right  to  live  than  I ! 

As  long  as  I  worked  I  was  a  person- 
ality, a  visible,  tangible  quantity ;  my  little 
efforts  helped  to  make  the  common  wheel 
go  round;  now  I  am  dead,  as  it  were.  1 
am  no  more  than  a  ghost  among  the  Hv- 
172 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

ing,  though  to  outward  impressions  alive. 
What  a  horrible  condition  to  be  in ! 
My  voice  even  has  changed,  and  assumed 
an  ingratiating  quality  it  used  not  to 
possess  ;  my  walk  has  become  slouching 
and  cautious.  I  seem  to  be  tip-toeing 
through  the  house,  the  only  person  awake, 
trying  not  to  disturb  the  others.  If  it 
were  not  for  the  fact  that  most  people 
were  a  little  unlike  themselves  just  now, 
mother  would  notice  that  it  was  only  the 
ghost  of  my  former  self  that  went  and  came 
each  day.  I  act  very  cleverly  in  Sashenka's 
presence  not  to  let  her  see  anything,  but 
we  so  rarely  meet  now ;  I  do  my  best 
to  avoid  her  as  much  as  I  can,  on  plea  of 
pressing  work. 

I  know  that  I'm  not  to  blame  for  what 
has   happened ;    I'm  only  the  victim  of 
circumstances,  but  that  is  small  consola- 
tion.    No   self-respecting  man   could   find 
173 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

consolation  and  satisfaction  in  the  thought 
of  being  a  victim.  The  more  I  think  of  it 
the  more  I  hate  myself  for  my  inefficiency 
and  limitations.  My  life  hangs  on  the 
merest  thread  that  any  casual  person  can 
break  at  his  will.  What  have  I  accom- 
plished to  sit  calmly  with  folded  arms. 
Where  are  the  indelible  traces  of  my 
personality,  the  fruits  of  my  labour  ? 
Some  chairs  and  tables,  a  few  garments, 
two  children,  is  the  sum  total  of  all  my 
achievements.  .  .  .  But  what  am  I 
saying  ?  I  have  chests  of  drawers,  down 
pillows,  four  hundred  roubles  in  the  savings 
bank,  a  lottery  ticket  in  my  pocket  with 
which  I  stand  the  chance  of  winning  two 
hundred  thousand  roubles.  It  would  be 
both  interesting  and  instructive  to  make 
a  complete  inventory  of  the  things  I  have 
acquired  by  my  own  efforts  during  the 
whole  of  my  life. 

174 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

It's  overwhelming  and  shameful  to  think 
what  little  there  is  !  I  can't  stay  in  this 
flat  for  more  than  another  month,  and 
then.  .  .  .  Poor  children,  what  a  wretched 
father  you  possess  ! 

1th  September. 

I  have  made  the  round  of  my  acquaint- 
ances, entered  some  two  hundred  doors 
with  my  letters  of  recommendation,  but 
no  one  seems  to  have  any  use  for  "  an 
honest,  conscientious  worker."  Many  are 
not  slow  to  give  advice.  One  man  advised 
me,  from  the  height  of  his  patriotic  self- 
satisfaction,  to  get  some  war  work,  and 
to  "  mobilise  industry  "  with  the  million- 
aire Riabushinsky,  those  of  a  more 
practical  turn  of  mind  told  me  to  worm 
myself  in,  and  to  suck  the  war  as  a 
new-born  babe  its  mother's  breast,  and, 
judging  by  my  brother-in-law,  this  seems 
175 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

to     be     a     very     nourishing     form     of 
diet. 

I  would  profit  by  their  wise  and  patriotic 
councils  did  not  the  thought  of  who  would 
"  mobilise  "  my  Peter  and  Jena  have  a 
deterring  effect.  As  for  the  latter  sugges- 
tion, I  am  sorry  that  I  don't  know  where 
to  find  the  beneficent  breasts  into  which 
to  dig  my  teeth. 

I'm  stupid  and  unadaptable ;  I  can 
only  do  work  I'm  used  to.  God  I  how  I 
envy  the  rich  !  With  what  despair  and 
avarice  do  I  look  at  their  big  houses  with 
the  plate-glass  windows,  and  their  motor- 
cars and  carriages,  and  showy,  loathsome 
clothes ;  their  gold  and  diamonds !  I 
hate  to  think  that  I  can't  do  what  they 
do  !  Since  all  are  plundering,  why  must 
I  starve  for  some  empty  word  like  honour, 
which  people  only  laugh  at,  if  they  think 
of  it  at  all  ? 

176 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

8^^  September. 

I'd  die  sooner  than  tell  Sashenka  that 
I've  lost  my  work  and  can't  keep  the 
family.  If  only  I  hadn't  been  so  over- 
bearing in  days  gone  by  !  If  only  I  hadn't 
been  so  exacting  and  presumptuous  !  To 
think  of  the  way  I  used  to  come  out  with, 
"  You  might  be  more  careful  about  my 
food !  What  would  happen  to  you  all 
if  I  were  to  fall  ill  ?  "  or,  "  Do  keep  the 
place  quiet !  I  must  get  a  little  rest !  " 
or,  "Why  is  the  tea  cold?  Why  isn't 
my  coat  brushed  ?  Look  at  the  fluff  on 
the  sleeve !  "  The  presumptuousness  of 
it! 

I  try  to  economise  by  going  without 
food  as  much  as  I  can.  I  never  take 
any  supper  at  all  now,  easily  excusing 
myself  on  account  of  my  precious  diges- 
tion ;  however,  I  very  rarely  feel  hungry. 
M  177 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

I  was  overcome  by  the  alarming  thought 
yesterday  that,  running  about  as  much 
as  I  do,  I  should  wear  out  my  boots,  and 
I  promptly  went  into  the  Rumiantsev 
Garden,  where  I  sat  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
to  spare  them.  It  will  come  to  going 
about  naked  soon,  to  spare  my  clothes  ! 

How  long  shall  I  be  able  to  endure 
it  ?  My  misery  knows  no  bounds.  Every 
sensitive  spot  in  me  has  been  pierced 
by  the  thorn.  When  I  try  to  picture 
my  heart  it  seems  Hke  a  lump  of  stringy 
sausage  made  of  dog  flesh,  rather  than 
the  keeper  of  lofty  feelings  and  desires. 
What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it  all  ?  Why 
must  I  bear  this  inhuman  pain  ? 

To  make  sport  of  a  man  like  this  ? 
How  long  will  my  patience  last  ?  Why 
must  I  cringe  and  scrape  ?  Am  I  a 
coward  ? 

As    I    wandered    through    the    square 
178 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

yesterday,  gazing  at  the  dusty  pavement, 
bestrewn  with  cigarette  ends,  at  the  tremb- 
Kng  leaves  on  the  trees,  at  the  houses  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river,  the  thought 
suddenly  occurred  to  me  that,  did  I  but 
choose,  I  could  join  my  darling  Lidotchka 
in  a  few  moments,  my  dear,  eternally 
beloved  child.  Happiness  smiled  to  me 
at  the  thought,  a  heavenly  light  seemed 
to  descend  upon  my  unfortunate  head. 
I  was,  for  the  moment,  rich  and  free, 
the  richest  and  freest  being  in  the  whole 
world. 

Why  do  I  go  on  strugghng  against  odds  ? 
Why  am  I  careful  of  my  boots,  like 
a  respectable  pauper,  when^  freedom  and 
happiness  are  so  close  at  hand  in  the 
deep,  fastly-flowing  river  ? 

9th  September. 
There's  nothing  to  say. 
179 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

lOth  Septeniber. 

On  the  advice  of  a  former  fellow-clerk, 
who  had  managed  to  get  himself  a  job 
with  an  army  contractor,  I  set  out  to  a 
certain  cafe  on  the  Nevsky,  where  business 
men  were  known  to  gather.  Luck  would 
depend  entirely  on  an  easy-going  self- 
confident  manner.  I  should  have  to  tell 
a  few  lively  stories,  introduce  myself  to 
people,  and  then  worm  my  way  in. 

It  turned  out  quite  differently,  though. 
I  told  no  stories,  nor  could  I  put  on  a 
self-confident  manner.  I  merely  smiled,  in 
the  hope  of  attracting  some  sympathetic 
eye.  I  ordered  some  tea  and  a  meat  pie 
in  an  off-hand  way,  and  when  they  were 
brought  to  me,  I  lapsed  into  a  stony  silence  ; 
I  seemed  to  lose  the  power  of  speech.  I 
was  stunned  by  the  voices  around  me, 
by  the  alertness  of  the  men  to  whom  they 
180 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

belonged.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  them 
walk  in  and  roll  their  eyes  about  till 
they  settled  on  the  individual  approach- 
ing them.  They  would  be  seated  together 
in  a  moment,  smoking  and  chatting  like 
veritable  old  cronies,  abusing  each  other 
one  moment,  and  ready  to  fall  on  each 
other's  necks  the  next.  Though  their 
talk  was  sufficiently  loud  and  communica- 
tive at  times,  it  was  difficult  to  gather 
what  they  were  driving  at.  One  thing, 
however,  seemed  clear — something  was 
being  bought  and  sold,  some  one  was 
being  robbed,  ruined,  or  betrayed.  That 
was  the  way  the  money  was  made. 

They  hadn't  an  air  of  money  about  them 
to  look  at.  Most  of  them  were  shabby  ; 
only  two  wore  real  diamonds  in  scarf-pins, 
studs  and  rings,  the  rest  wore  imitation 
ones.  Their  pocket-books,  however,  which 
most  took  out  now  and  again,  were  all 
181 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

fat,  and  stuffed  not  with  common  paper, 
but  with  bank-notes.  The  sordidness  may 
have  been  a  matter  of  form,  the  Hvery 
essential  to  these  men's  service.  Disgust- 
ing crowd  ! 

I  will  say  frankly  that  I  set  out  to  the 
cafe  with  my  mind  fully  made  up,  and 
without  any  moral  scruples.  Had  one  of 
them  said  to  me,  "  Look  here,  Ilya 
Petrovitch,  we  want  to  break  open  a  safe 
to-night,"  or,  ''  We  want  to  counterfeit 
money,  will  you  join  us  for  good  pay  ?  " 
I  should  have  accepted  the  commission 
without  the  smallest  hesitation.  At  any 
rate,  that  is  what  I  thought,  but  when  I 
had  been  sitting  there  for  an  hour  in 
stony  silence,  looking  at  their  ties  and 
faces,  their  dirty  finger  nails  and  diamond 
rings,  I  was  filled  with  a  loathing  towards 
these  men — not  so  much  to  what  they 
stood  for — I  had  no  clear  knowledge  of 
182 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

that — as  to  the  men  themselves,  to  the 
infamy  in  their  faces.    Horrible  crowd  ! 

I  was  so  struck  by  a  certain  black- 
moustached  man  among  them  that  I 
forgot,  for  a  time,  the  hopelessness  of  my 
own  position.  He  was  not  old,  robust 
and  strong,  and  the  only  one  among  that 
rabble  who  was  well-dressed ;  he  held 
himself  with  a  calmness  and  dignity  that 
inspired  awe.  He  listened  more  than  he 
spoke,  smiling  now  and  again,  and  refused 
to  shake  hands  with  a  grubby  man  who 
approached  him.  Neither  the  man  nor 
any  one  else  paid  any  heed  to  that ;  it 
was  taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  Once 
he  let  his  black  eye  fall  on  me,  cruel  and 
indifferent ;  and,  knowing  him  by  instinct 
to  be  the  rogue  and  swindler  he  was,  I 
still  felt  the  servile  impulse  to  incline  my 
head  in  an  ingratiating  way.  I  don't 
suppose  he  noticed  me,  or  if  he  did,  he 
188 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

must  have  soon  sized  me  up  at  my  true 
value,  and  turned  his  attention  to  some 
one  else.  He  allowed  no  one  to  pay 
for  his  tea  when  he  got  up  to  go  ;  but 
five  men  followed  him  to  the  door,  defer- 
ential even  to  his  back.  I  learned  after- 
wards from  the  remarks  of  the  others, 
that  the  man  had  made  several  millions. 
Three  or  four  was  the  figure  mentioned, 
but  even  if  half  had  been  exaggerated,  it 
still  left  the  sufficient  sum  of  two  milHons. 
I  thought  of  the  man  for  the  rest  of  the 
day  after  I  had  left  the  cafe.  What  had 
he  done  to  earn  two  millions  ?  What 
robberies  and  treacheries  did  they  repre- 
sent ?  What  manner  of  man  must  he 
be  ?  What  kind  of  soul  must  he  possess  to 
be  so  calm,  to  fear  neither  the  bloodshed, 
nor  God,  nor  the  devil  ?  I  found  it  hard 
to  believe  that  he  was  made  of  the  same 
stuff  as  myself.  I  marvelled  as  I  tried  to 
184 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

recall  his  face,  his  powerful,  robust  figure, 
his  calmness.  I  compared  him  to  mother 
during  dinner — mother  who  grudged  her- 
self every  morsel  she  ate.  I  tried  to  recall 
Pavel,  and  the  awful  moment  when  I 
informed  her  of  his  death,  and  still  more 
did  I  marvel  at  the  mysteries  of  human 
life. 

No  amount  of  reflection  on  the  rights 
and  wrongs  of  it  could  have  so  com- 
pletely killed  the  desire  to  take  my  share 
of  the  plunder  as  the  sight  of  that  man. 
To  be  a  big  rogue,  you  must  be  born  a 
big  rogue,  and  I  haven't  the  quickness, 
the  ease  of  manner,  nor  lightness  of  heart 
to  make  a  small  one.  It  is  given  to 
some  men  to  possess  millions,  to  others 
a  conscience — a  truly  wise  division  of 
wealth  ! 


185 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

11^^  September. 

I've  had  a  fit  of  extravagance.  I 
enjoyed  my  supper. 

Earlier  in  the  day  I  went  into  EHseyev's 
and,  throwing  a  rouble  on  the  counter  in 
the  lordly  way  of  a  man  who  possessed 
four  millions,  I  asked  for  a  pound  of 
Moscow  sausage  of  which  mother  and  the 
children  are  very  fond.  Why  shouldn't 
they  enjoy  a  good  meal  for  once,  and  think 
kindly  of  the  man  who  was  able  to  supply 
it  ?  I  bought  two  pounds  of  choice  sweets, 
too,  and  two  thousand  cigarettes,  which 
I  took  to  Sashenka  for  her  soldiers.  I 
received  her  tender  kiss  and  thanks  with- 
out the  smallest  qualms  of  conscience. 
I  hadn't  courage  enough  to  rob  in  the 
cafe,  but  didn't  mind  robbing  at  home. 

Despite  the  satisfaction  of  a  hearty 
meal,  I  am  filled  with  remorse  at  this 
186 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

moment,  as  though  I  had  indeed  com- 
mitted a  robbery  in  the  high-way.  A 
full  stomach,  however,  is  stronger  than 
remorse  and  conscience,  and  I  soon  began 
to  yawn  with  the  callousness  of  a  million- 
aire. This  is  the  first  time  I  have  felt 
sleepy  since  I  lost  my  work. 

l^th  September. 
I  did  not  sleep,  however,  even  though 
I  did  feel  sleepy.  I  no  sooner  got  to  bed 
than  all  desire  for  sleep  left  me.  I  lay 
tossing  about  or  smoking  the  whole  night, 
trying  to  think  of  some  honest  work  I 
could  do.  A  waiter  in  a  restaurant  seemed 
to  me  a  possible  idea,  or  a  tram- conductor, 
since  men  were  scarce  now,  but  with 
morning  and  the  sun,  I  realised  the  futility 
of  it.  How  could  I  do  a  waiter's  difficult 
task  with  my  poor  health  and  inexperience  ! 
Such  work  was  not  for  me  ! 
187 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

14^^  September. 

I  am  getting  to  know  Petrograd  as 
well  as  a  tourist  or  a  philosopher.  I 
spend  hours  staring  at  monuments  as 
though  I  had  never  seen  them  before. 
I  try  to  understand  their  symbolic  meaning. 
I  inspect  the  palaces  and  new  buildings. 
I  am  quite  stirred  by  good  architecture. 
With  the  greatest  interest  did  I  walk  round 
the  new  Turkish  Mosque  near  the  Troitsky 
Bridge,  to  get  a  good  view  of  it  from  all 
sides.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  travelling 
in  the  Far  East.  I  had  my  lunch  on  a 
bench  in  the  Square,  and  meditated  on 
the  many  different  religions.  I  went  into 
the  Alexander  III.  Museum  and  admired 
the  pictures.  Acquaintances,  only,  I  can't 
bear  to  meet,  and  disappear  down  a  side 
street  when  I  catch  sight  of  one  in  the 
distance. 

188 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

About  the  doings  of  the  Germans  I 
only  learn  from  the  staff  bulletins  on  the 
public  notices  ;  I  never  buy  any  news- 
papers now.  To  judge  by  people's 
countenances,  things  are  going  badly  with 
us,  and  the  Germans  are  still  advancing. 
I  don't  know  how  it  will  end,  and  I  care 
very  little ;  my  own  end  will  come  first. 
It  escaped  my  notice,  somehow,  that  on 
the  3rd  of  the  month  Grodno  was 
taken. 

A  ghost  among  the  living,  I  abandon 
myself  for  hours  together  to  ghostly  reflec- 
tions. I  can  see  life  as  an  outsider ;  I 
seem  to  get  a  bird's-eye  view  of  it  from 
above.  I  philosophise  ;  mentally  I  arrange 
the  affairs  of  men  and  governments. 
The  rumbling  motor  vehicles,  the  burdened 
horses,  the  tense  activity  made  me  realise 
why  there  was  a  war.  A  man  wants  to 
possess  more  than  his  fellows,  that  is  why 
189 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

we  have  war.  And  I  approved  of  his 
desire. 

With  a  curiosity  the  Uving  would  not 
understand,  I  study  the  plan  of  the 
town.  I  like  to  know  why  it  is  laid  out 
in  roads  and  streets  and  squares.  I  can 
see  the  full  importance  of  the  tramway. 
I  like  the  look  of  the  block  of  flats 
and  the  porters  ;  1  like  the  stone  quay. 
I  saw  the  Ochta  Bridge  open  to  let  a 
steamer  pass  one  day,  and  I  liked  that, 
too.  I  like  the  bustling  crowds  at  the 
railway  stations  ;  I  never  miss  going  to 
them  every  day.  Nevertheless,  I  wouldn't 
mind  if  the  whole  thing  collapsed.  It 
would  be  an  interesting  spectacle  to  watch. 
I  try  to  picture  the  flames  and  the  ruins. 
The  town  would  look  very  fiat  when  it 
was  over. 

I  saw  two  aeroplanes  in  the  sky  to-day 
from  the  Krestovsky  Island ;  one  made 
190 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

a  circuit  ]'ound  the  edge  of  a  large  cloud. 
Mentally  I  was  up  there  flying  with  them, 
not  without  a  sense  of  pleasure.  I  take 
a  very  lordly  view  of  hfe,  on  the  whole. 
I  mean  this  in  all  seriousness.  At  times 
I  am  in  the  best  of  moods.  I  don't  mind 
how  much  money  I  spend,  and  buy  presents 
and  sweets  for  the  children  in  the  most 
lordly  way.  I  took  another  basket  of 
fruit  to  Sashenka,  and  gave  it  to  her  very 
gallantly. 
A  lord,  indeed ! 

16tk  September. 

The  town  is  in  a  ferment  like  a  disturbed 
ant  hill.  Voices  are  raised  loudly  in  alter- 
cation. The  Duma  has  been  dismissed. 
Our  only  hope  was  in  the  Duma.  How 
bold  the  citizens  of  Petrograd  have  become 
all  at  once !  They  shout  things  out  in 
the  streets  they  would  have  been  afraid 
191 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

to  speak  of  in  a  whisper  in  the  privacy  of 
their  own  bedrooms  but  a  short  time  ago  ! 
Trouble  is  feared.  With  the  murmur  of 
discontented  voices  in  my  ears,  I  think. 
"  It's  all  ver}^  fine,  my  brave  fellows.  .  .  . 
But  what  has  it  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

From  sheer  lack  of  something  else  to 
do,  I  went  to  the  Taurida  Palace.  It 
looked  just  the  same  as  on  any  ordinary 
day.  A  small  crowd  of  us  stood  watching 
the  members  coming  out.  There  seemed 
nothing  unusual  about  them  too ;  they 
were  men  like  other  men,  only  a  little  grave 
and  satisfied,  perhaps,  that  it  had  fallen 
to  their  lot  to  participate  in  such  a  great 
historic  event.  To  be  dismissed  in  the 
hour  when  "  the  country  was  in  danger  "  ! 
They  came  out  with  dignity,  and  sat  stiff 
and  upright  in  their  carriages,  looking 
grave,  with  the  air  of  a  specialist  who 
had  just  finished  a  patient.  When  I 
192 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

smiled  and  happened  to  pass  some  jocular 
remark,  a  young  man  near  me  said  some- 
thing about  the  black  hundreds.  I  resolved 
to  get  away  before  I  was  mobbed,  and 
really,  what  business  had  I  there  at  all  ? 
I  went  to  the  Ochta  Bridge  afterwards 
and  expended  six  kopeks  to  go  down  the 
Neva  on  a  steamer  as  far  as  the  Vasily 
Island. 

The  water  has  a  strange  attraction  for 
me.  I  was  very  soothed  to  sit  on  the 
fore  part  of  the  ship,  with  the  wind  and 
spray  beating  against  my  face.  It  gave 
a  pleasantness  to  my  hopelessness  and 
despair. 

11th  Seftemher. 

I  know  now  what  emptiness  means. 
How  very  weird  and  strange  it  is  !  Empti- 
ness is  everywhere  ;  it  stretches  from  the 
moon,  at  which  I  gazed  last  night,  to  the 

N  193 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

English  embankment.  Tlie  houses  are  full 
of  it ;  it  clings  to  walls  and  ceilings  ;  there 
is  not  a  room  that  does  not  contain  it ; 
knock  down  every  wall,  and  nothing  will 
remain  between  me  and  the  stars  but 
emptiness. 

I  realised  this  very  vividly  at  dawn 
yesterday.  I  had  been  dreaming  that 
Lidotchka  had  come  to  see  me,  and  I 
awoke.  I  was  too  restless  to  go  to  sleep 
again  afterwards,  so  I  got  up  and  went 
into  my  study,  where  I  sat  down  on  the 
window-sill.  It  was  getting  light,  but  it 
was  raining,  and  everything  seemed  grey 
and  monotonous.  There  was  no  beginning 
or  end  to  anything.  It  v/as  still  and  quiet 
around  me.  A  sense  of  the  emptiness 
shot  through  me,  of  the  emptiness  with- 
in, and  the  emptiness  without,  the  two 
stretching  together  throughout  eternity. 
Emptiness  was  everywhere ;  within  it 
194 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

was  heated,  so  that  people  should  not 
perish  of  the  eternal  cold.  And  that  thing 
sitting  on  the  window-sill  (I  went  on 
thinking)  is  a  man,  and  the  emptiness  is 
all  about  him.  The  emptiness  that  is 
heated  is  called  a  house,  and  soon  I  shall 
have  no  house.  .  .  . 

Then  I  realised  where  I  was.  Like  a 
lunatic,  once  more  I  was  sitting  on  my 
window-sill  in  my  pants.  My  legs  seemed 
so  long  and  my  beard  so  grey.  Your  end 
has  come,  Ilya  Petrovitch  ! 

I  would  have  gone  to  bed  just  now, 
but  the  moon  peeped  in  at  my  window, 
so  I  think  I'll  go  out  and  look  at  it.  I 
don't  like  having  to  wake  the  porter  each 
time  I  go  in  and  out ;  I  have  only  the  key 
of  our  own  flat.  I  shouldn't  like  every- 
body to  know  if  anything  happened  to  me. 
What  a  dear  boy  Jena  is ! 


195 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

19th  September. 

I  have  seen  a  horrible  nightmare.  I 
strolled  casually  into  the  Finland  railway 
station  where  a  crowd  had  collected  to 
meet  a  company  of  wounded  expected 
back  from  Germany.  They  had  been  dealt 
with  and  sent  back  again,  for  they  were 
no  longer  terrible.  Oh,  God !  Like  a  blind 
and  deaf  fool,  absorbed  in  my  own  petty 
affairs,  I  did  not  realise  at  first  why 
the  crowd  was  there.  It  seemed  a  festive 
occasion ;  flag,  flowers,  and  band  must 
have  leant  colour  to  this  thought.  A 
bride  and  bridegroom  might  have  been 
expected  to  arrive.  When  I  heard  the 
truth,  I  went  cold  with  horror.  I  stood 
waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  train,  unable 
to  picture  the  sight  I  was  to  see. 

And  when  they  arrived,  and  men  without 
arms  and  legs  were  carried  out,  and  the 
196 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

blind  and  the  halt  hobbled  along,  and  the 
band  struck  up  in  honour  of  the  warriors' 
return,  my  heart  melted  within  me,  and  I 
wept  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd.  When 
I  shut  my  eyes,  I  could  not  hear  the  sound 
of  voices  ;  I  only  heard  the  sound  of  feet 
and  crutches  along  the  platform,  and  the 
strains  of  the  music,  ...  I  couldn't 
understand  what  was  happening.  I  under- 
stood no  better  when  I  opened  my  eyes. 
In  bright- coloiu-ed  shirts  of  blue  and  red 
they  came,  as  gay  as  bridegrooms,  but 
their  arms  and  legs  were  gone.  .  .  .  Were 
these,  then,  the  new  bridegrooms  of  Mother 
Russia  ?    Who  was  I  to  look  at  them  ? 

What  a  picture  they  made  when  they 
were  seated  at  the  table  where  a  meal 
had  been  prepared  for  them  !  The  tears 
rolled  down  their  cheeks  and  salted  the 
bread  of  their  native  land  that  they  were 
eating.  How  weary  their  faces  looked ! 
197 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

They  seemed  as  dear  and  familiar  to  me 
as  the  face  of  an  old  friend.  Speeches 
were  made  to  welcome  them  home.  .  .  . 
And  as  I  stood  watching  a  blind  little 
pock-marked  man  near  me,  who  couldn't 
carry  his  spoon  to  his  mouth,  I  felt 
that  the  earth  ought  to  open  and  swallow 
me  up.  At  that  moment  a  young  officer 
caught  the  eye  of  one  of  his  men,  a  little 
fellow  who  had  lost  an  arm.  The  officer 
came  up,  and  the  two  smiled  to  each  other, 
and  when  I  saw  that  smile  I  could  endure 
it  no  longer.  I  turned  away,  and  pushing 
my  way  out  of  the  crowd,  I  walked  over 
to  a  remote  corner  of  the  station,  and 
prostrated  myself  three  times  to  the 
ground. 

Ah,  my  bridegrooms  in  bright- coloured 

shirts !      How    heavily    do    the    wedding 

crowns    rest    on    your    brows,    and    how 

burning  hot  are  the    wedding  rings    that 

198 


DURING  CxREAT  DAYS 

will   join   you    for    ever    to    your    native 
land! 
Forgive  me,  a  sinner  and  outcast ! 


^Oth  September. 

Saslienka,  my  dear  friend,  from  the 
short  letter  you  will  find  on  the  table, 
you  will  see  that  you  must  seek  for  the 
explanation  of  my  death  in  this  diary. 
Read  it  carefully,  my  dear,  read  it  in 
a  friendly  spirit,  and  you  will  understand, 
and  perhaps  approve  of  my  resolve  to 
quit  a  life  where  I  was  so  superfluous, 
and  where  I  suffered  so  much.  I  know 
you  love  me.  I  have  a  sacred  belief  in 
your  love.  I  will  carry  this  belief  to  our 
dear  Lidotchka  in  her  solitude  that  I  am 
soon  to  join  with  so  much  joy  and  glad- 
ness. Yes,  with  joy  and  gladness,  Sashenka. 
Don't  worry  yourself  with  the  thought 
199 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

that  I  died  suffering,  that  I  died  in  terror. 
I  am  glad  to  cast  off  this  wearisome 
life.  I  am  but  a  weak  creature,  Sashenka. 
For  three  weeks  I  have  kept  from  you 
the  knowledge  that  I  have  lost  my  work, 
and  that  we  were  faced  with  starvation. 
I  was  ashamed  to  confess  my  inefficiency 
in  the  battle  of  life.  Another,  a  stronger 
man,  would  have  got  out  of  his  difficulties, 
and  found  himself  some  other  work,  but 
I  couldn't.  What  was  the  good  of  me  ? 
To  live  on  public  charity  I  have  no  right 
and  no  desire  to  do.  There  are  men  who 
have  more  claim  on  the  public  than  I. 
I  saw  a  company  of  wounded  arrive  at  the 
station  yesterday,  and  the  bitterness  of 
their  lot  made  me  weep.  These  are  the 
men  the  public  must  help. 

As  for  you,  my  sad  beauty,  my  heart  of 
gold,  I  am  no  longer  a  young  man,  and 
my  person  could  not  have  been  attractive 
200 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

to  you — it  was  only  your  goodness  of 
heart  that  induced  you  to  love  me.  When 
I  am  gone  you  will  be  free ;  I  only  stood 
in  your  way.  I  was  but  a  poor  husband 
to  you  !  I  did  not  lead  you  with  a  firm 
hand  along  the  difficult  path  of  life,  nor 
did  I  illumine  the  darkness  for  you  with 
the  light  of  my  wisdom.  I  was  unkind, 
petty  and  egoistic.  I  could  hide  my  head 
with  shame  when  I  think  of  the  way  I 
used  to  blame  you  for  my  digestion.  It 
was  I,  too,  who  tried  to  drag  you  away 
from  your  self-denying  work  at  the  hospital. 
I  complained  of  not  being  able  to  look 
after  the  children,  forgetting  that  you  had 
learned  the  more  difficult  task  of  looking 
after  the  wounded.  To  think  of  the  injured 
expression  I  used  to  put  on  whenever  you 
came  home,  or  when  I  visited  you  at  the 
hospital,  and  criticised  your  arrangements  ! 
Please,  dear,  forget  one  thing — forget  what 
201 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

/  said  to  you  when  Lidotchka  died.  Wipe 
out  those  base  words  from  your  memory 
and  the  cruel  reproaches,  or  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  rest  in  my  grave. 

When  the  children  grow  up,  so  that  they 
may  have  no  cause  to  be  ashamed  of 
their  father,  don't  tell  them  what  you 
know  about  me.  Sashenka,  I  have  been 
cursed  by  Mother  Russia.  I  heard  her 
voice  plainly  yesterday  when  I  saw  our 
blind  and  maimed  heroes  as  they  returned 
from  Germany.  They  were  our  defenders, 
Sashenka,  yours  and  mine ;  it  broke  my 
heart  to  see  their  misery.  The  few  use- 
less tears  I  shed  would  never  have  seen 
the  light  of  day  had  I  not  strolled  by 
accident  into  the  railway  station.  "  Be 
thou  accursed,  base  son !  "  I  heard  the 
voice  of  Russia  say.  It  was  not  delusion, 
Sashenka,  it  wasn't  a  dream ;  I  heard 
it  as  plainly  as  could  be. 
202 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

You  may  think  it  madness.  It  would 
pain  me  to  have  you  think  that.  Tliere 
was  a  time  when  I  was  mad,  dear,  but  that 
was  in  the  days  before  I  heard  Russia's 
voice,  in  the  days  when  I  used  to  beat 
my  breast  and  boast  of  my  righteousness 
hke  a  Pharisee,  and  sit  in  judgment  upon 
those  who  fought.  Had  I  been  a  German, 
Germany  too,  must  have  cursed  me,  for 
the  Germans  have  their  wounded — the 
bhnd  and  maimed,  who  fought  to  de- 
fend the  rest.  What  have  I  done  for 
Russia,  Sashenka,  in  her  dreadful  hour 
of  need  ?  The  only  thing  I  have  done 
was  not  to  rob  her,  but  was  that 
enough  ?  I  knew  the  country  was  in 
danger ;  I  used  to  repeat  the  words 
like  a  parrot,  but  what  did  I  do  ? 
Nothing !  What  damnation  is  contained 
in  that  one  word  ! 

Unflinchingly  I  carry  out  the  sentence 
203 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

of  death  with  my  own  hand — spies  and 
traitors  must  die  ahke,  for  there  is  no 
room  for  them  on  earth.  Russia's  maternal 
voice  has  cursed  me,  and  I  cannot,  I 
dare  not  Hve.  How  could  I  look  any  one 
in  the  face  after  that  ?  I  am  so  useless, 
Sashenka,  so  superfluous  that  not  a  void 
will  remain  even  in  the  place  where  I 
once  was.  No  one  will  notice  my  absence, 
no  one  will  know  that  I  am  gone.  One 
thing  only  fills  me  with  dread.  What 
if  our  Lidotchka  turns  from  me  when  I 
find  her  among  the  heavenly  angels  ?  But 
no,  they  must  surely  understand  better  there 
than  here.  Perhaps  the  cruel  suffering 
with  which  I  paid  for  my  insignificance 
— vain  and  inglorious  as  it  was — may  be 
counted  in  my  favour.  There  are  no 
strong  and  weak  there ;  all  are  equal ; 
there  may  be  a  refuge  in  the  folds  of  Christ's 
garments  even  for  me.  I  have  settled  my 
204 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

accounts  on  earth,  and   in   heaven  there 
will  be  new  reckonings. 

I  hope  you  will  be  happy,  my  dear,  my 
wonderful  wife.  May  God  bless  you  for 
the  love  you  gave  me,  for  your  gentle- 
ness and  patience,  for  every  touch  of 
your  beloved  hand.  Don't  mourn  for  me. 
Have  the  same  Mass  said  for  the  three 
of  us — Pavel,  warrior  fallen  in  the  field, 
Lidotchka  and  for  me.  Make  no  attempt 
to  find  my  body ;  it  will  be  carried  far 
out  to  sea.     Good-bye,  my  dear,  good-bye. 

9>2nd  September, 

Such  wonderful,  divine  things  have 
happened  that  I  must  set  them  down 
all  in  order  to  avoid  confusion. 

Three  days  have  now  passed.  The  day 
I  decided  to  kill  myself  I  spent  with  the 
children  whom  I  took  for  a  walk  in  the 
205 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Alexandrov  Garden.  I  bought  them  some 
sweets,  and  tried  to  let  them  have  as 
pleasant  a  time  as  I  could.  I  took  home 
some  special  delicacy  for  mother's  dinner, 
I  wrote  a  letter  to  her  son,  Nikolai,  by  the 
way,  but  fortunately  I  didn't  post  it. 

When  the  children  went  to  bed  I  made 
them  say  their  prayers  in  my  presence, 
then  I  settled  up  all  my  small  cash  affairs 
— it  was  fortunate  that  I  had  no  debts — 
and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  police  and  another 
to  Sashenka.  At  about  one  in  the  morning 
I  set  out  for  the  Troitsky  Bridge,  from 
whence  I  had  decided  to  jump  into  the 
river  ;  it  was  quiet  and  deserted  at  that 
hour.  For  greater  certainty,  and  to  spare 
myself  all  the  suffering  possible,  I  put 
two  heavy  lead  weights  from  the  old 
broken  cuckoo  clock  in  the  nursery  into 
my  great-coat  pockets,  hoping  to  add 
stones  and  other  heavy  objects  on  the 
206 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

way.  I  may  say  with  perfect  truthfulness 
that  I  felt  no  fear  at  the  prospect  of  death, 
nor  any  particular  regrets  at  parting  with 
life.  The  few  tears  I  shed  when  writing  to 
Sashenka  were  merely  formal  ones. 

I  wondered  mostly  as  I  went  along 
what  my  dear  ones  would  do  when  I  was 
gone,  and  how  they  would  live.  I  saw 
that  they  might  be  better  off  without  me, 
perhaps — fatherless  children  have  more 
right  to  expect  help.  I  counted,  too, 
on  Sashenka's  brother,  Nikolai,  to  whom 
I  could  not  have  appealed  personally. 
With  these  thoughts  I  passed  Moshkov 
Street,  and  was  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  dark,  lonely  river.  The  night  was 
dark  and  clouded  ;  the  Peter-Paul  Fortress, 
on  the  other  side,  was  hardly  discernible ; 
a  faint  light  glimmered  dimly,  the  lantern 
at  the  Fortress  gates,  no  doubt,  and  near 
there,  in  the  darkness,  the  river  seemed 
207 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

as  broad  as  the  sea.  Suspended  over  the 
river,  to  the  right,  were  the  steady  Hghts 
of  the  Troitsky  Bridge,  close  by ;  it  was 
still  and  deserted.  "  At  last !  "  I  thought, 
hugging  the  cold  weights  in  my  pocket, 
and  my  face  was  bathed  by  the  fresh  moist- 
ness  of  the  water  whirling  silently  round 
the  stone  parapets.  "  There  is  no  need 
to  hurry  ;   I  will  stay  here  for  a  while." 

It  was  then  that  the  extraordinary 
thing  happened  to  me.  I  can  hardly  ex- 
plain it  in  words.  I'm  not  a  fool ;  on  the 
contrary,  I  have  a  good  deal  of  common 
sense.  There  are  some  things  I  do  not 
see,  others  I  do  not  know,  still  others  I 
do  not  understand ;  there  is  so  little  time 
for  the  understanding,  busy  as  one  usually 
is,  but  never  in  the  whole  of  my  experience, 
have  I  ever  gone  in  for  prolonged,  con- 
centrated thought.  At  that  moment,  how- 
ever, a  change  took  place  ;  I  seemed  to  be 
208 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

transformed,  as  in  a  fairy  tale  ;  a  thousand 
eyes  and  ears  seemed  to  have  opened  in 
me,  and  prolonged  concentrated  thoughts 
filled  my  brain.  Motion  was  impossible. 
I  had  to  sit  or  stand,  but  I  couldn't  walk. 
I  forgot  all  words,  I  forgot  the  very  names 
of  things  ;  thoughts  so  big  and  vast  took 
possession  of  me  that  each  seemed  large 
enough  to  have  embraced  the  whole  world. 
I  cannot  describe  the  condition.  My  first 
reaUsation  was  the  sense  of  my  manhood. 
I  was  the  inner  meaning  of  the  words, 
people,  mankind,  man,  such  as  I  stood 
there  with  my  great- coat,  lead  weights 
in  my  pockets,  thinking  those  thoughts  by 
the  flowing  river,  in  the  silence  of  the 
night.  And  the  other  people,  where  were 
they  ?  I  thought,  and  a  vision  of  all  the 
people  in  the  world  floated  before  me. 
What  difference  was  there  between  the 
living  and  the  dead  ?  Where  do  the  dead 
o  209 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

go  to  ?  Where  do  the  Hving  come  from  ? 
And  again  my  thoughts  seemed  immense, 
never-ending  ;  and  I  saw  all  the  living  and 
the  dead,  and  all  the  people  who  were  to 
come,  and  there  were  numbers  and  numbers 
of  them ;  they  were  floating  mth  the 
clouds  beneath  the  moon,  they  came  flying 
through  the  rays  of  the  sun,  they  were  in 
the  rain  and  the  wind  and  the  river.  And 
then  I  understood,  without  knowing  how 
the  understanding  reached  me,  that  I  was 
immortal,  absurdly  immortal,  and  that 
Petrograd  might  perish  a  thousand  times, 
and  I  should  still  exist. 

I  was  on  the  Troitsky  Bridge  by  that 
time,  at  the  very  spot  I  had  chosen  for 
my  leap  into  the  water,  when  the  absurdity 
of  suicide  struck  me  so  forcibly,  that  in- 
stead of  leaping  in,  I  threw  the  lead 
weights  into  the  water,  so  violently  that 
the  water  never  even  splashed  as  they  fell. 
210 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

And  again  I  became  absorbed  in  deep, 
prolonged  thought  as  I  gazed  on  the  water 
flowing  down  the  river  in  the  hght  of  the 
lamps.  I  looked  up  at  the  dark,  infinite 
sky,  and  still  vast  thoughts  came  to  me, 
and  they  were  as  clear  as  though  I  had 
been  a  sage  who  understood  the  meaning 
of  the  whole  universe.  A  few  motor-cars 
passed  over  the  bridge,  recalling  me  to 
myself ;  I  turned  and  waited  expectantly 
for  others  to  come,  rejoicing  when  two 
bright  electric  lamps  appeared  at  the 
bend  of  the  bridge.  The  car  hooted  as 
it  passed. 

I  had  been  humbled.  Humility  is  the 
only  word  that  describes  the  sensation 
that  came  to  me  as  I  stood  shivering 
with  cold  by  the  river.  Suddenly,  I  don't 
know  why,  I  shuddered,  and  was  hurled 
from  the  heights  of  wisdom  and  under- 
standing to  the  depths  of  littleness  and 
211 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

fear.  My  hands  in  my  pockets  clenched 
convulsively.  It  seemed  as  if  my  fingers 
had  grown  dry  and  drawn  as  a  bird's 
claws.  "  Coward  !  "  I  thought,  and  such 
a  feeling  of  terror  for  the  death  I  had 
planned  came  upon  me,  that  I  forgot 
I  had  thrown  away  the  weights,  and  that 
I  had  decided  not  to  kill  myself  before 
this  terror  came.  I  know  now  that  it  was 
real  cowardice  I  experienced — cowardice 
pure  and  simple,  and  that  there  was  no  very 
great  harm  in  it,  but  at  the  time  my  terror 
was  truly  awful.  Where  had  my  wisdom 
gone  ?  Where  my  big  thoughts  ?  I  stood 
on  the  bridge,  not  daring  to  look  at 
the  water,  trembling  so  violently  that  my 
teeth  chattered.  However,  desperate  as  I 
was,  I  still  kept  on  making  some  attempts, 
measuring  the  height  of  the  rail,  and 
clutching  it  with  my  hands.  "  Now !  " 
I  thought  in  despair,  feehng  the  freedom 
212 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

of  my  toes  ;  they  were  in  no  way  fixed 
to  the  pavement,  and  might  leave  go  any 
moment,  now.   .   .   . 

And  in  that  awful  moment  I  suddenly 
recalled  our  flight  from  Shuvalov  at  the 
beginning  of  the  war,  and  my  Lidotchka, 
and  the  flower  I  had  picked  for  her  on  the 
road,  and  the  inexpressible  terror  I  had 
felt  then.  ...  So  this  was  what  I  had 
feared !  This  that  my  heart  had  fore- 
boded !  This,  then,  explained  the  flower 
and  the  haste,  and  the  dread  of  looking 
behind,  and  the  straining  to  go  ahead,  to 
hide,  to  seek  out  a  refuge  for  oneself 
on  earth !  The  soul  had  known  what 
threatened  it  and  quaked  in  the  frail 
human  frame  ! 

"  My  God  !     It's  all  the  war,  the  war  !  " 

I  thought,  and  a  vision  of  the  war  and  its 

horrors  appeared  before  me.     I  forgot  that 

I    was   in   Petrograd,    forgot   that    I    was 

213 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

standing  on  the  bridge,  forgot  everything 
surrounding  me.  My  consciousness  was 
filled  only  with  the  war,  and  the  war  was 
all  about  me.  I  can't  describe  this  sensa- 
tion, this  new  terror,  nor  the  tears  that 
gushed  from  my  eyes — I  could  cry  now 
at  the  very  thought  of  it.  Some  man 
passing,  fortunately,  happened  to  notice 
me.  He  had  gone  by,  but  turned  back 
and  addressed  me.  Close  as  in  a  mirror 
could  I  see  his  unfamiliar  face  and  eyes 
that,  for  some  reason,  seemed  awful  to  me. 
I  backed  away  from  him  with  a  cry,  and 
fled  over  the  bridge  to  Sashenka. 

I  can't  remember  where  I  got  into  a 
cab,  nor  how  much  I  paid  for  my  fare, 
nor  how  I  got  to  the  hospital,  I  only 
remember  falling  on  my  knees  before 
Sashenka,  and  trembling  in  every  limb, 
and  swallowing  my  tears,  I  blurted  out 
my  wild,  disjointed  confession.  .  .  . 
214 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

My  Sashenka  is  a  saint.  I  have  no 
right  to  call  her  mine.  She  belongs  to 
God,  to  all  men.  I  am  unworthy  to 
touch  her  hand ;  all  my  life  I  must  weep 
at  her  feet  and  praise  God  for  having 
created  her.  Sashenka,  my  heart  of  gold, 
my  pure  soul,  blessed  be  the  day  when 
you  were  born  ! 

Like  a  fool,  I  had  expected  reproaches, 
but  this  is  what  I  heard  when  I  could 
distinguish  her  divine  words  through  my 
sobs  and  tears,  "  Never  mind  about  your 
work,  dear ;  it  doesn't  matter.  I  was 
offered  a  salary  here,  but  I  refused  to 
take  it.  I  will  take  it  now,  and  we  can 
get  along  quite  well  with  the  children. 
We  shall  be  together  ;  we  must  do  the 
best  we  can.  I  must  take  you  home  now, 
as  though  you  had  been  badly  wounded. 
It  will  do  you  good  to  look  at  the 
sleeping  children  and  to  kiss  mother.  You 
215 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

must    rest    your    soul,    my    poor,    dear 
Ilenka.  .  .  ." 

She  had  it  in  her  heart  to  call  me  her 
"  dear  Ilenka  !  "  She  wept  over  me,  and 
kissed  my  grey  hair. 

"  Don't  kiss  my  hair,"  I  muttered,  "  I 
haven't  been  to  the  baths  for  a  month." 

What  did  that  matter  to  her  !  Wonder- 
ful woman  !  I  can't  remember  her  exact 
words  ;  they  were  not  at  all  as  I  have  them 
here,  but  I  was  so  weak  and  faint  at  the 
time  that  I  had  to  lean  against  the  wall 
to  keep  myself  from  falling.  She  left  me 
for  a  while  to  make  some  arrangement, 
and,  grown  calmer,  I  cast  about  the  room 
where  it  had  all  taken  place,  wiping  away 
my  tears.  My  eyes  fell  upon  a  white  overall 
with  a  red  cross  hanging  on  the  wall,  and 
again  my  tears  gushed  forth.  Henceforth 
the  red  cross  will  be  as  sacred  to  me  as  my 
Sashenka. 

216 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

In  that  condition  Sashenka  took  me 
home.  I  tm^ned  my  face  away  from  the 
porter  as  he  opened  the  door — we  hve 
up  a  different  staircase.  I  tried  to  speak, 
but  my  words  were  unintelHgible,  and 
Sashenka  stopped  me.  "  Don't  talk  now," 
she  said,  "  wait  till  you  are  calmer.  We 
can  talk  to-morrow."  She  had  asked  for 
a  few  days'  leave. 

I  have  no  clear  recollection,  too,  of 
what  happened  when  we  got  home.  The 
rooms  seemed  very  bright  and  festive ;  they 
might  have  been  prepared  for  a  party.  I 
kissed  the  sleeping  children,  each  in  turn, 
I  kissed  mother,  whom  Sashenka  had 
roused,  and  we  all  cried  together,  smihng 
happily  and  foohshly.  Then  the  samovar 
was  prepared,  and  as  I  drank  the  hot  tea, 
the  tears  fell  into  my  cup.  I  couldn't 
stop  crying  for  joy  and  pity. 

Sashenka  made  me  a  bed  in  my  study, 
217 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

thinking  I  should  be  quieter  there.  She 
put  on  clean  sheets  and  gave  me  clean 
night  things,  and  when  I  got  into  the 
fragrant  fresh  bed,  and  lay  down  on  my 
back  with  my  hands  on  the  coverlet, 
and  Sashenka  put  a  green  reading-lamp 
on  a  little  table  by  my  side,  and  opened 
a  book  to  read  to  me,  I  did  indeed  feel 
as  if  I  had  been  badly  wounded,  and 
was  now  recovering.  How  pleasant  was 
the  very  weakness  with  which  I  raised  my 
eyes  to  the  bright  patch  of  light  cast  by 
the  lamp  on  the  ceiling,  to  the  lamp  itself, 
to  Sashenka's  chin,  which  was  all  I  could 
see  of  her  face  ! 

She  was  reading  something  from  Gogol, 
and  though  I  only  caught  fragments  of 
the  story,  it  was  as  sweet  and  soothing 
as  a  pleasant  dream  about  strange  people, 
fields,  country  roads.  "  Selefan,  Petrushka, 
the  trap."  I  heard  the  words,  I  could  see  the 
218 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

people,  yet  there  was  the  dark  river,  the 
motor-cars,  the  man  seizing  my  hand  on  the 
bridge,  then  again  came  the  trap  and  bells, 
and  a  long,  winding  country  road.  I  fell 
asleep,  but  started  up  with  a  shudder,  and 
when  I  saw  the  patch  of  light  and  heard 
Sashenka's  reassuring  voice,  I  dropped  into 
a  sound,  peaceful  sleep  at  last. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  Sashenka 
was  sitting  by  the  little  table  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  She  had  just  finished  reading 
this  stupid  diary,  and  looked  so  sweet 
after  her  sleepless  night  spent  by  my  side. 
Dear,  divine  Sashenka  ! 

25th  September. 

We  have  moved  to  the  house  of  Sash- 
enka's friend,  Fimotchka,  with  whom  we 
have  rented  two  rooms,  inhabited  formerly 
by  some  refugee.  The  refugee  was  igno- 
miniously  turned  out ;  we,  too,  were 
219 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

refugees.  Fimotchka  is  the  j oiliest  person 
imaginable  ;  she  is  always  laughing.  God 
knows  how  I  love  these  two  tiny  rooms,  and 
Fimotchka's  jokes  against  my  sensibility. 

I  might  have  moved  to  a  palace  for  I 
feel  as  free  as  a  king.  Fimotchka  has  a 
canary,  and  I  foolishly  stand  at  its  cage 
watching  its  antics  for  half  an  hour  at  a 
time. 

I  can't  talk  about  important  things 
now,  that  must  come  later. 

The  Germans  continue  to  advance. 


26th  Se'ptemher. 

I  find  it  difficult  to  see  myself  as  Sashenka 
describes  me,  but  I  have  faith  in  each  of 
my  blessed  angel's  words.  What  a  ho^'rible 
picture  it  is  of  myself,  to  be  sure  !  No 
wonder  I  was  such  a  stranger  to  Sashenka. 
Absorbed  as  I  was  in  my  own  sorrows,  I 
220 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

failed  to  notice  her  tears  ;  to  each  kind 
word  I  answered  with  a  vicious  growl — 
like  a  dog  who  had  been  deprived  of  a 
bone.  How  incredibly  vain  were  my  fears 
and  my  pride  when  I  had  lost  my  work  ! 
Other  men  might  lose  their  work  and  have 
to  beg,  only  I  was  too  exalted  for  that ! 
Other  men  might  lose  their  children,  only 
I  must  cry  aloud  and  beat  my  breast ! 
Other  men  might  have  their  houses  burnt 
and  their  property  destroyed,  and  be 
subjected  to  all  kinds  of  misfortunes,  only 
I  must  be  guarded  sacredly  against  any 
ill  wind !  Other  men  might  fight  and 
suffer,  while  I,  like  a  retired  school-master, 
must  sit  up  at  night  to  prepare  my  lessons, 
to  moralise  to  unwilling  ears,  and  to  set 
the  conduct  marks.  Here's  minus  for  you, 
Germany  !  Go  into  the  corner  !  All  you 
fools  must  stand  in  the  corner !  I'm  the 
only  sensible  person  among  you,  and  I 
221 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

will  sit  in  the  cathedra  and  sing  my  own 
praises  ! 

I  wonder  how  Sashenka  came  to  see  it  ? 
What  a  dear  she  is !  She  says  it's  so 
plain  to  anyone.  If  it  is,  what  made  me 
so  blind  ?  The  same  reason,  no  doubt, 
that  prompts  me  to  ask  these  useless 
questions.  I  see  it  all  so  clearly,  yet  will 
put  marks  of  interrogation  from  force  of 
habit.     How  stupid  of  me  ! 

There  seems  nothing  to  which  I  can 
compare  my  present  lightness  of  heart.  I 
am  afraid  of  nothing.  Nothing  in  the  world 
is  terrible ;  I  created  my  own  terror. 
If  the  Germans  come,  what  of  it  ?  If 
we  must  run  away,  we  will  run  away  ; 
if  we  must  die,  we  will  die.  Peter  and 
Jena  are  dearer  to  me  than  ever,  but  even 
the  thought  of  their  death  does  not  fill 
me  with  dread.  I  should  mourn  for  them 
bitterly,  no  doubt,  but  I  refuse  to  bow 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

down  to  death,  I  refuse  to  invite  her  as 
my  guest !  Besides,  the  idea  of  death  is 
ridiculous ;  those  we  love  never  die, 
Sashenka  says. 

Last  night  Fimotehka  kept  on  calling 
me  old  man.  It  was  "  Well,  old  man  " 
here,  "  well,  old  man  "  there,  until  Sashenka 
was  quite  hurt  and  rebuked  her  for  it.  I 
didn't  mind  in  the  least ;  I  knew  she 
was  only  joking.  I  had  a  great  desire, 
nevertheless,  to  see  myself  in  the  glass. 
Supposing  it  were  true  !  I  don't  look  so 
old,  really  ;  no  one  would  take  me  for  more 
than  forty-six,  but  there's  a  something 
about  the  eyes  and  in  my  smile,  and  in  my 
ever-ready  tears.  .  .  .  But  I  have  a  good 
many  years  to  live  yet,  and  am  as  strong 
as  most  men.  Fimotehka  says  my  exten- 
sive exercise  through  the  town  must  have 
hardened  me  a  lot.  I  don't  mind  her 
chaff. 

223 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

We  are  all,  except  mother,  delighted 
with  our  new  home.  It  is  hard  to  under- 
stand why  the  old  lady  was  so  grieved 
by  the  removal.  She  collapsed  completely, 
and  though  this  is  the  second  day  we  have 
been  here,  she  is  lying  on  her  bed  with  her 
face  to  the  wall,  dozing  silently.  When 
we  burst  the  news  on  her  suddenly  about 
my  having  lost  my  work,  little  foreseeing 
how  it  would  affect  her,  we  grew  quite 
alarmed  at  her  condition.  She  turned  pale, 
and  trembled  all  over  like  a  leaf.  When 
all  the  furniture  had  been  removed  from 
the  house,  she  still  refused  to  leave  her 
room,  and  wept  when  we  led  her  away. 
Yesterday  she  summoned  Sashenka,  and 
speaking  in  a  whisper,  asked  her  to  fetch 
Pavel.  Sashenka  said  she  would,  of  course, 
and  fortunately,  the  poor  old  lady  did  not 
repeat  her  request.  I  have  just  looked  in 
to  see  them.  They  are  all  asleep — mother, 
224 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Sashenka,  and  the  children.  Nurse  sleeps 
in  Fimotchka's  drawing-room  while  Sash- 
enka is  here. 

I  managed  to  sell  our  spare  furniture 
to  advantage,  and  got  that  burden  off  my 
mind.  Sashenka  is  to  remain  with  us 
for  another  day,  and  then  she  goes  back 
to  the  hospital.  She  offered  to  look  out 
for  some  useful  occupation  for  me.  Can 
I  ever  express  the  respect  I  feel  for  her ! 
She  dragged  me  out  from  the  bottomless 
pit  into  which  I  had  fallen.   .   .   . 

Fimotchka  came  back  from  some  friends, 
and  finding  me  still  up,  sat  with  me  for 
an  hour  talking  about  the  horrors  of  the 
German  invasion.  From  her  pallor  and 
disjointed  womanly  words  I  realised  more 
than  from  the  papers,  with  what  horror 
and  anxiety  the  German  invasion  is  awaited 
by  our  capital  and  by  the  whole  country. 
Oh,  Lord,  spare  Russia  !  Spare  her  cities, 
p  225 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

her  people,  her  houses  and  cottages  !  Spare 
us,  not  for  what  we  deserve,  oh,  Lord,  nor 
for  our  riches  ;  have  mercy  on  us  for  our 
ignorance  and  poverty,  as  you  used  to  be 
merciful  to  the  ignorant  and  poor  when 
you  walked  on  earth  ! 

I  can't  go  to  sleep.  I  want  to  be  up 
and  doing.  My  hands,  hanging  idly,  irritate 
me.  I  should  like  to  scrub  the  floor,  if  it 
had  not  been  scrubbed  already.  I  must 
send  Sashenka  back  to  the  hospital 
to-morrow.  I  am  quite  well  enough  now, 
and  we  mustn't  put  it  off  any  longer 
than  can  be  helped. 

Oh,  that  my  chest  were  thirty  versts 
broad  so  that  I  could  place  it  in  front  of 
a  German  gun  as  a  shield  for  others  ! 

2Sth  September. 
I  have  had  two  promises  of  work,  as  a 
clerk  on  a  refugee  committee  with  a  small 
226 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

salary,  the  other  at  the  front  in  the  ambul- 
ance service.  I  should  prefer  the  second, 
but  will  take  the  first,  if   necessary. 

Mother  is  much  worse,  and  calls  con- 
tinually for  Pavel. 

1st  October. 

I  go  about  with  a  collecting  box  for  the 
wounded. 

Srd  October. 

I  could  never  have  believed  what  in- 
expressible happiness  can  be  found  in 
tears.  Crying  used  to  make  my  head  ache, 
bring  a  bitter  taste  to  my  mouth,  and  a 
leaden  feeling  to  my  heart,  but  now  I  find 
it  as  pleasant  and  easy  to  cry  as  to  love. 
I  realised  this  particularly  during  the  two 
days  of  my  wandering  through  the  streets 
of  Petrograd  with  a  collecting  box  in  my 
hand.  Each  contribution,  every  mark  of 
227 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

sympathy  for  the  wounded,  filled  me  with 
deep  emotion.  How  kind  people  were ! 
How  many  hearts  of  gold  passed  before 
my  happy  eyes  ! 

As  an  assistant  I  had  a  lively  little  school- 
boy, of  untiring  energy,  who  made  my 
long  legs  serve  me  in  good  stead.  Together 
we  went  to  the  Ochta  district,  and  there, 
amongst  poor  workers  and  labourers,  we 
spent  many  hours  of  exultation. 

"  Don't  they  give  !  "  Fedia  the  school- 
boy said  to  me.  "  Don't  they  give  !  All 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  take  it !  " 

"  Yes,  Fedia,  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to 
take  it !  "  I  laughed  at  his  naive  words 
with  humid  eyes.  And  when  I  saw  an 
old,  long-bearded  carter  who  turned  with 
difficulty  to  give  me  his  copper,  I  loved  the 
sight  of  his  hand  and  his  beard,  I  loved 
everything  about  him  as  the  most  precious 
of  human  realities  that  no  war  can  eclipse. 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

I  like,  too,  the  way  they  are  not  the 
least  ashamed  that  their  contributions 
are  smaller  than  those  on  the  Nevsky  or 
Morskaya.  Some  asked  me  if  Fedia  was 
my  son. 

"  No,  we  are  friends,"  Fedia  hastened 
to  assure  them.  He  always  seemed  hurt 
on  these  occasions  ;  he  probably  felt  too 
big  to  be  anybody's  son.  He  would  insist 
on  carrying  the  heavy  box  until  he  was 
fagged  out,  making  me  pin  on  the  badges, 
and  altogether  ordering  me  about  in  the 
most  dignified  way. 

Twice  the  boxful  of  coins  changed 
hands  between  us.  Carried  away  by  our 
enthusiasm,  we  walked  until  we  could 
scarcely  drag  ourselves  along ;  Fedia  was 
particularly  tired.  It  was  getting  dark 
when,  we  emerged  from  a  little  street 
facing  a  cotton-mill  with  smoking  chimneys, 
and  sat  down  on  a  beam  to  rest.    For  a 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

long  time  we  sat  there  enjoying  the  glorious, 
tranquil  evening,  the  barges  and  ships  on 
the  broad  Neva,  the  sunset's  glow  on  the 
misty  clouds.  I  shall  never  forget  that 
evening.  Disturbed  by  a  passing  tug,  the 
water  rippled  against  the  flat  bank,  the 
Ochta  children  paddled  quietly  in  the 
shadows  of  the  large  barges  that  crept 
along  the  bank,  playing  their  evening 
games  ;  blue  lights  began  to  appear  on  the 
bank  opposite.  My  soul  was  as  innocent 
as  though  I  had  turned  into  a  little  child. 
It  was  Fedia  who  talked ;  I  was  silent. 
He  talked  about  the  Germans  for  a  while, 
then  he,  too,  grew  quiet  and  pensive. 
Some  soldiers  passed  over  the  Ochta  Bridge, 
and  above  the  din  of  the  traffic  we  caught 
fragments  of  their  song. 

"  The  soldiers  are  singing,"  Fedia  started. 
"  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  On  the  bridge.    Listen,  listen  !  " 
220 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

How  nice  it  is  that  our  soldiers  sing 
in  their  natural  voices,  unspoiled  by  train- 
ing !  Their  voices  speak  of  their  youth, 
their  country,  their  people,  of  Russia  her- 
self. The  song  died  away ;  it  began  to  get 
dark  ;  on  the  bank  opposite  lights  appeared 
in  windows  and  streets,  and  still  I  thought 
of  our  soldiers  and  Russia.  Russia !  Won- 
drous word !  As  in  a  dream  I  could  see  an 
Autumn  country  road,  lights  twinkling  in 
the  peasant  cottages,  a  peasant  standing 
at  his  cart.  The  very  horse  was  dear  to 
me.  I  thought  of  its  eternal  toil  with 
gratitude ;  I  thought  of  other  horses, 
other  villages,  other  towns.  ...  I  had 
dozed  off,  it  turned  out,  and  Fedia  had 
fallen  fast  asleep.  It  was  a  good  thing 
the  nights  were  still  warm.  I  picked  up 
his  cap  that  had  slipped  from  his  head,  and 
had  great  difficulty  in  rousing  him ;  I 
simply  had  to  force  him  to  open  his  eyes. 
231 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

"  I  can't  go  on  !  "  he  muttered. 

"  I  would  carry  you  if  I  had  the  strength. 
Let's  go  as  far  as  the  steamer,  and  then  we 
can  take  a  tram." 

"  Very  well,"  Fedia  agreed.  My  little 
chum  had  a  great  partiality  for  steamers. 

Thus  we  worked  together  for  two  days. 
It  rained  yesterday,  unfortunately,  and 
we  were  obliged  to  stop  our  collecting, 
but  the  feeling  of  gladness  remains  as 
before.  Brightly  does  man  illumine  the 
Autumn  mud  and  bad  weather. 

I  am  going  to  get  a  place  at  the  front, 
it  seems. 

1th  October. 

Mother  is  dead.  For  a  long  time  she 
has  only  feigned  to  live,  and  now  she  has 
gone  to  join  her  Pavel.  Will  she  find 
him  ?  But  I  know  that  they  are  in  the 
same  place,  and  that  my  Lidotchka  is 
232 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

there,  too,  and  that  I  will  be  there  when 
my  time  comes. 

So  many  people  are  dying  !  They  seem 
hewn  down  as  by  a  wood-cutter's  axe ;  each 
day  the  familiar  forest  grows  thinner. 

There  is  a  stubborn  rumour  which  the 
newspapers  support,  that  the  German  ad- 
vance is  over.  They  have  been  advancing 
steadily  since  the  spring,  and  now  they 
have  stopped  by  Riga  and  Dvinsk.  Never- 
theless, as  though  divided  from  us  by  no 
more  than  a  low  wall,  we  seem  to  see  their 
ruthless  eyes  peeping  out  at  us,  and  the 
days  dwindle  in  dark  incertitude. 

13^;?  October. 

How  sad  and  pitiful  human  beings  are  ! 
How  difficult  their  lot  in  this  world,  how 
trying  for  their  enigmatical  souls  !  What 
does  the  human  soul  grope  for  ?     To  what 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

end    is    it    striving    through    blood    and 
tears  ? 

Each  day  I  hear  tales  about  the  sad  pro- 
cession of  refugees  from  Poland  and  Vol- 
hinia  along  every  road.  We  have  grown 
so  used  to  the  word  "  refugee,"  meeting 
it  in  print  and  counting  it  in  figures,  that 
we  do  not  realise  its  meaning.  What 
woeful  pictures  they  must  make  along  the 
roads,  even  now  at  this  moment,  with 
their  rumbling  carts,  their  ailing  children, 
crying  and  coughing,  their  hungry  bellow- 
ing cattle  !  What  large  numbers  of  them 
there  are  !  Whole  nations  moving  from 
place  to  place,  and,  like  Lot's  wife,  looking 
back  at  the  smoke  and  the  flames  of  the 
burning  towns  and  villages  behind  them ! 
There  are  not  enough  carts  or  horses, 
and  one  hears  that  bullocks  and  big  dogs 
are  harnessed,  and  sometimes  men,  too, 
and  they  drag  their  own  loads  as  man 
234 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

must  have  dragged  his  belongings  in  ancient 
days  when  he  was  first  pursued.  .  .  . 

How  difficult  it  is  to  imagine  the  sights 
that  are  to  be  seen  along  our  roads ! 
The  refugees  stream  down  the  usually  de- 
serted, muddy  country  roads,  making  them 
crowded  as  the  Nevsky  on  a  holiday. 
How  long  will  this  unknown  force  pur- 
sue us  ? 

Another  sad  piece  of  news  came  to-day. 
The  Bulgarians  have  attacked  the  Serbians 
in  some  place  called  Kniajevetz.  Even  this 
we  were  not  spared.  Brothers  are  to 
kill  brothers.  The  soul  shrinks  at  the 
thought  that  this  race  is  to  perish,  that 
this  sparsely-grown  meadow  is  not  to  be 
spared  the  mower's  scythe.  With  what 
feelings  of  anguish  must  they  be  waiting 
and  listening  for  the  advance !  "  They 
are  coming !  "  It  would  not  take  much 
to  wipe  out  the  Serbs.  Didn't  the 
235 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

Turks  massacre  eight  hundred  thousand 
Armenians,  as  the  papers  tell  us  ?  But  why 
speak  of  it  ?  I  weep  and  weep  ;  I  pity 
them  all;  each  moment  the  heart  is  torn 
by  some  fresh  disaster.  I  don't  know 
whether  to  pray  for  the  chastisement  of 
the  Bulgarian  traitors  or  to  bow  down 
to  the  incomprehensible  mysteries  of  the 
human  soul. 

An  article  I  happened  to  come  across 
about  the  poor  Armenians,  brought  me 
nearer  to  cursing  than  to  pity  and  tears. 
It  took  me  the  whole  of  a  sleepless  night 
to  get  over  it.  This  is  what  was  seen  by 
an  eye-witness  :  I  set  it  down  word  for 
word.  "  The  most  awful  sights  were  seen 
by  our  unique  eye-witness  in  Bitlis.  He 
had  scarcely  reached  Bitlis  when  in  a  wood 
he  came  upon  a  group  of  newly  massacred 
men,  and  near  them,  completely  naked, 
and  hanging  feet  upwards,  were  three 
236 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

women.  Close  to  one  of  the  women, 
with  arms  outstretched  to  its  mother, 
was  a  year-old  child.  The  mother  was 
still  alive,  her  face  bloodshot ;  she,  too, 
stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  child,  but 
they  could  not  reach  each  other." 

How  could  I  sleep  with  that  awful 
image  before  my  eyes  ?  It  was  as  much 
as  I  could  do  to  breathe.  The  blood  rushed 
to  my  head  as  though  I  had  been  hanging 
by  my  feet,  and  at  moments  I  nearly 
choked.  I  did  not  shed  tears,  curiously  ; 
my  tears  were  dry  for  that  night.  I  was 
filled  with  a  raging  fury ;  I  wanted  to 
curse  those  murderers.  I  say  nothing  of 
the  newly  massacred  men — have  we  not 
accustomed  ourselves  to  regard  men  as 
sheep,  and  to  be  touched  only  by  a  con- 
ventional emotion  in  like  circumstances  ? 
and  have  we  not  enough  of  these  "  newly 
slaughtered  "  in  our  own  slaughter-house  ? 
237 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

but  the  woman  and  the  child  I    The  woman 
and  the  child.  .  .  . 

She  was  still  living ;  she  might  have 
been  hanging  like  that,  head  downwards, 
for  half  an  hour,  for  an  hour,  perhaps. 
What  horrible  red  circles  must  have  danced 
before  her  eyes  when  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  brain  ?  How  did  she  breathe  ? 
How  did  her  heart  beat  ?  And  through 
the  turbid  redness,  through  the  dark 
obscurity  of  death,  she  could  distinguish 
the  image  of  her  child ;  she  could  see 
only  her  crawling  infant  with  what  re- 
mained of  her  sight,  and  with  all  the  human 
force  she  possessed,  she  stretched  out  her 
purple  arms  to  it,  and  her  purple  swollen 
face.  To  any  other  being  that  horrible 
purple  face  would  have  been  terrifying, 
but  the  innocent  babe  strove  to  get  to  her, 
still  knowing  her  to  be  his  mother.  "  But 
they  could  not  reach  each  other." 
238 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

In  the  wildest  nightmare  the  whole  of 
that  night  I  tried  to  unite  those  out- 
stretched hands.  Each  moment  it  seemed 
that  success  was  mine,  that  the  hands  would 
touch,  and  that  some  eternally  glorious 
life  would  come  about  with  that  contact, 
but  some  unknown  force  seemed  to  drag 
them  asunder,  and  me  with  them.  I 
shook  myself,  to  come  to  my  senses  (I 
regretted  that  I  had  given  up  smoking ; 
a  smoke  would  have  been  very  soothing 
just  then)  but  again  the  nightmare  returned, 
and  it  seemed  to  have  neither  beginning 
nor  end.  Once  more  I  was  trying  to  unite 
the  hands ;  they  seemed  so  close ;  but 
again  that  unknown,  invisible  force  dragged 
them  apart.  The  blood  that  rushed  to 
my  head  and  the  despair  nearly  choked 
me.  The  nightmare  became  truly  awful 
in  the  end.  The  hands  no  longer  strove 
towards  each  other,  but  were  stretched  out 
239 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

to  me,  to  my  throat,  and  they  seemed  to 
grip  it  Hke  a  vice,  and  there  were  not  fom* 
hands  only,  but  numbers  and  numbers 
of  them.  .  .  . 

Fimotchka  rushed  in  when  she  heard 
my  groans,  to  find  out  what  was  the 
matter.  She  gave  me  some  ether  and 
valerian  drops,  and  had  a  soothing  effect 
on  me  by  the  sight  of  a  hving  person. 
When  she  was  gone  the  nightmare  returned, 
but  not  in  its  acutest  form.  The  hands 
were  no  longer  at  my  throat,  but  striving 
vainly  to  touch  each  other  as  at  first, 
and  I  was  holding  forth  eloquently  in  our 
office  on  the  subject,  and  waving  my  long 
arms  about.  It  was  not  until  morning 
that  I  fell  into  a  dreamless  sleep.  To-day 
I  was  filled  with  many  strange  thoughts 
and  emotions.  I  stared  at  every  pair  of 
hands  I  saw,  whether  busy  or  idle,  and 
longed    for    their    union.     I    thought    of 


DURING  GREAT  DAYS 

Sashenka's  mother  and  of  mothers  in 
general.  I  wonder  why  a  mother  doesn't 
see  that  in  mourning  for  her  own  son  she 
is  aiming  at  some  other  woman's  son,  and 
that  all  are  mom'ning  alike  ?  Perhaps 
they  do  see  it  ?  the  thing  is  so  simple. 
Another  force  is  at  work.  Who  is  it  strives 
for  union,  and  who  prevents  it  ?  "  But 
they  could  not  reach  each  other,"  the 
eye-witness  said. 

My  anger  has  left  me,  my  sadness  re- 
turned, and  once  more  the  tears  flow. 
Whom  can  I  curse,  whom  can  I  judge, 
when  we  are  all  alike  unfortunate  ?  Suffer- 
ing is  universal ;  hands  are  outstretched 
to  each  other,  and  when  they  touch.  Mother 
Earth  and  her  Son,  the  great  solution  will 
come.  But  I  will  not  live  to  see  it.  And 
what  have  I  done  to  deserve  it  ?  As  a 
"  cell "  I  have  lived,  as  a  "  cell "  I  must 
die.  The  only  thing  I  can  ask  of  fate 
Q  241 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LITTLE  MAN 

is  that  my  suffering  and  my  death  should 
not  have  been  wasted.  I  accept  both 
submissively.  But  I  cannot  quite  resign 
myself  to  this  helplessness.  My  heart  is 
aglow,  and  I  stretch  out  my  hand  and 
cry,  "  Come,  let  us  join  hands  !  I  love 
you,  I  love  you.  .  .  ." 
And  my  tears  flow  fast. 

mn  January  1916. 


242 


